


Let's Burn Our Dreams into the Skyline

by orangeiguanas4



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friendship, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeiguanas4/pseuds/orangeiguanas4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Santana discover one another in a way they never imagined over a summer vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spark Up Like Fireworks

I blame the sunset for my actions. Her dark hair is shining brilliantly against the crimson and orange sky and the summer sun has tanned her skin to a deep bronze. Shoulders are bare in the warm night’s air and hers rubs against mine as we sit side-by-side looking over the ocean. Around us, our drunken friends chase one another and splash on the edge of the surf. Normally Santana would be instigating the fun, but tonight she is calm and introverted, her toes drawing lazy circles in the damp sand.

It didn’t matter that our friends are all around and could obviously see us. It definitely didn’t matter that Santana and I haven’t been the best of friends over the past couple of years. For some reason, my brain only focuses on her stunning beauty and the calmness that washes over me when her shoulder brushes mine.

She looks at me, a hint of playfulness lurking on her face, which quickly turns into a smug smile when she registers what my glance meant. I am not supposed to be looking at a girl the way I am in this moment, but for some reason it doesn’t matter (I blame the sunset).

My cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I don’t shy away from the pounding of my heart in my chest. I want this more than I have ever wanted something in my eighteen years of existence and I won’t forgive myself if this moment slips through my sweaty fingers. 

I surge forward, connecting our lips and am immediately surprised at how soft and tender they are as they slide along mine. It is a whole other universe from the chapped lip kisses I have shared with a handful of boys over the past four years. I keep my mouth pressed against hers, unmoving, unsure of how to proceed. Our friends are all around us and are definitely going to see this newest development.

Santana takes the decision right out of my hands when she laces her fingers through my short blonde hair and runs her tongue sensually along my bottom lip. I haven’t stood a chance in the first place, but now I am completely a goner.

Before I really have a chance to object, I’m on my back in the sand and the only thing I can see is Santana’s hair falling in a curtain around her face as she hovers above me, biting her lip adorably. She ducks down and captures my lips with hers again and I groan against her, letting my hands move to grip her hips in an attempt to see if this is a dream or reality. Definitely reality.

Despite my greater wants, I wake up in my own bed to the bright Florida sunshine streaming through the sliding glass door in the morning. I’m completely alone, but I’ve never felt so content in being by myself before. Just down the hall, the girl I have loved for four years slumbers peacefully and she likes me back. She likes me back.

It’s my first time in Florida, but Santana has been here a million times visiting her Dad’s family. I would be content spending the remainder of the week lying on a blanket on Miami Beach, trying to coerce my pale skin to absorb some of the rays without giving me a killer sunburn. Santana decides that it’s unacceptable and drags me out to her Jeep Wrangler to take me sightseeing. The rest of our friends are left unceremoniously at the beach house to fend for themselves, but it doesn’t bother me once I’m sitting in the passenger seat and Santana is holding my hand lightly on top of her gearshift.

We shop in downtown Miami, we eat amazing food, and we take dorky pictures together. But as sunset approaches, she drives us back down the beach and parks the car so that we’re overlooking the crystal blue ocean. The top is off of her Jeep and the salty breeze blows through my already messy hair. I try to run my fingers through it to tame it, but she pulls my hands away, replacing them with her own and kissing me as the sun ducks beneath the horizon.

There is a deep-rooted need in me to communicate, to figure out what it is that we’re doing. In less than a month I’ll be at Yale and Santana will be in Kentucky and college life and new friends will be invading our lives. 

I try to just enjoy the moments now that I finally have given into years of yearning for her soft skin pressed against mine, but the lingering thought of what is going to happen next keeps me from inviting her back to my room that night. Santana’s drunk and I’m pretty tipsy, our feet sore from dancing the night away at a downtown club. Her kisses and touches grew more daring as the evening wore on and her body had me pressed against the doorframe of my room before I said goodnight and slipped into the room without her.

I try to amend my guilt for leaving her hanging by delivering her a cup of coffee in bed. I know from years of being around her that she won’t eat with a hangover. The aspirin and glass of water are lying on her nightstand. Santana is the only person I know that is smart enough to lay out hangover supplies before she goes out drinking.

She groans loudly when I nudge her awake. Immediately her hand finds the little pills and she tosses them into her mouth before taking a swig from the glass of water. I smile at how adorable she looks with mascara smeared around her eyes and the lines of her pillow still etched on her face. She looked apprehensive about my presence like she was internally debating whether she should pull me into her bed or try to pierce me with a snide remark to mask the hurt she’s feeling from my rejection. I don’t give her an answer; instead I climb into the bed, scooting behind her and draping an arm over her waist. She doesn’t protest and I feel the anxiety slowly seep from her tired body.

When I awake again, it’s to an empty bed. Santana is sitting at the vanity on the other side of the bedroom brushing her hair. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she gives me a shy smile; it’s one that shows me that I’m forgiven. It’s like she can read me even though there are no words there for her to see. She sees my fear of this overwhelming love and what the future holds. But we still don’t speak because to say it aloud would ruin this boxed-off universe we’ve created.

Today she takes me to the Everglades and laughs as I squeal and hold onto her arm as our tour guide zips through the water on the boat. I know we are surrounded by wildlife that could kill me and he points out the giant alligators along the banks and I hold Santana even tighter. Santana loved adventures; I played it safe. But our worlds were colliding, fighting to find a common place for us to survive. I wasn’t surprised when dusk found us lying in the hammock on the deck of the house, staring up at the sky. It was painted with bright colors again and my head was against Santana’s shoulder and our fingers were laced as they rested on her stomach. Our friends were out drinking and partying and the house was quiet. Santana was giving into my serene lifestyle the way I was giving into her crazy one.

In two days we’ll be back in Lima and in two weeks, Santana will be leaving for cheer camp at the University of Louisville. We can’t put off actually discussing our situation that much longer. As soon as we’re back in Ohio, things will be different. Right now we’re living in a comfortable vacation bubble.

It takes Brittany innocently asking us over dinner if we’re together for us to sit down and really talk. My hands are shaking as I look at the beautiful girl sitting across from me; wanting to say everything right to make sure that I never lose her because not having Santana after getting a real taste of what we could have would make me break. I’ve crumbled too many times in the past three years to do it again. Playing it safe won’t work here because deep down I know that love isn’t safe.

She sits rather patiently, absentmindedly picking at her chipping nail polish and waiting for me to start the conversation. I can hear the laughter of our friends splashing around in the pool outside and for a minute I wish that I had never started this situation so we could be out there with them, no complications in the way of our friendship. My conscience intercepts that idea and throws it away, knowing I couldn’t have taken the ache in my chest much longer.

Santana and Brittany had broken up for the sheer reason that they both couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship. Brittany had always moved fluidly in everything and as much as she loved Santana, she was able to move on quickly to hooking up with a junior football player shortly after our graduation. The tall blonde dancer was Santana’s first true love and I had watched her spend our entire high school careers doing everything to make sure that Brittany was safe and happy. They had only broken up two months ago and I couldn’t start this conversation because it would mean discussing the truths. I would have to tell Santana how much I stood beside her as she suffered over our mutual best friend, wanting nothing more than to show her that I could love her more than Brittany.

Neither Santana nor I are good with discussing feelings, so I’m not surprised that it’s past one in the morning when we finally get through. My cheeks are tear-stained and I watch Santana bat away a little tear that has slipped from her left eye. It’s been an emotional night and we’ve only made a tiny step of progress, but it’s something. I knew it wasn’t going to be instantaneous and I’m still worried about the future, but tonight I’m lying in Santana’s arms and I fall asleep to the sound of her breathing.

On our final night in Miami, we find ourselves on the beach with music and a cooler full of drinks as the sun starts fading. The boys collect armfuls of sticks and driftwood and built a fire pit in the sand. As the sky fades into orange, they start the blaze. Santana sits with her head on my shoulder and our arms intertwined. I can feel Brittany’s eyes flit towards us every once in a while, but she seems content to see Santana happy again after a long two months.

The sun is nearly rising when the fire finally burns itself out, leaving a pile of ashes and charred pieces of wood standing out against the white sand. Santana is breathing evenly in sleep beside me, a throw blanket tossed over us haphazardly. The sand is hard against my back, but Santana’s sweatshirt is curled under my head as a makeshift pillow and I’m surrounded by her sweet perfume. I’ve only gotten two hours of sleep, but I don’t care because it was one of the best nights of my life so far.

I roll on top of Santana and she gives a raspy growl at being woken up. It’s absolutely endearing to get to see the soft side of Santana and I realize that she’s been like that so much this week. She kisses me back when I lean down and meet her lips. We’re rolling in the sand and I can feel it scratching my limbs when Santana flips me onto my back and presses her body against mine. My whole body is tingling under her touch and I don’t want this morning to end. We have to leave for Lima in a few hours and I know the magic spell that has been over us for the past week will be lifted as soon as we hit the Ohio state border.

We pull ourselves off of the beach, sand stuck in our hair and clothes but I don’t even notice the discomfort as we walk back to the house hand in hand. I’ve never felt so content in my entire life as I do after making out with Santana Lopez until the wee hours of the morning on a beach in Florida.

By mid-morning, we’re all showered and packed and have packed huge thermoses of coffee for the ride back to Lima. I call shotgun in Santana’s Jeep and I don’t even complain when Puck and Sam end up in our back seat. We stop in Tennessee for the night and we get cheap motel rooms. Puck finds a barbeque place that we go to for dinner and then we break out our fake IDs to hit some bars downtown. We all dance and get drunk and enjoy one of the last real nights we have together before we head in our own directions.

It’s after three in the morning when we get back to the motel. It takes Santana four tries before she gets the key card into the swipe. The door clicks and she pushes it open and holds it for me, letting me walk past her. I flip the light switch on, but she hits it off again as she walks by, pulling her skintight mini dress over her head. 

My mouth waters at the sight. Her skin is perfectly tanned from a week on the beach. Her skin is glistening with sweat from the walk back in the humid August air and I feel an urge to run my hands down her perfectly chiseled abs.

Santana is standing in the middle of the room in a bright blue bra and thong set and is smirking confidently as me. I stumble to the edge of the bed and climb onto it, gesturing her over with one finger. She wastes no time before she’s sashaying over and is climbing across the comforter on her hands and knees until she’s right in front of me.

“Kiss me, Lopez,” I breathe, the alcohol giving me all the confidence I need to not freak out in this moment.

Santana takes the command without hesitation, leaning down and capturing my lips with fevered passion. I groan when she bites down on my lip and pushes me back against the pillows. In my eighteen years of being, I have never been so lost in a moment.

I don’t stop her when she hikes up my sundress until it is around my waist. Her hands are on me, all over me, and I feel like my entire body is on fire.

“Take it off,” she says in between kisses, yanking on the dress that was separating my skin from hers. I pulled back and looked in her eyes for a second. 

Her gaze is dark, pupils completely blown and I don’t doubt her attraction to me even in the slightest. I don’t want to be her rebound from Brittany; I don’t want to be her summer fling before we head off to college in less than a month. I want to mean something to her the way she does to me.

But I’m drunk and she’s so damn sexy and I want this so badly in the moment that I force myself to forget about what happens after tonight, so I sit up and I pull the damn dress over my head and toss it unceremoniously off the side of the bed.

Santana practically growls as her eyes rake over me and I’m self-conscious for all of two seconds before her lips and tongue are working magic on my neck and her hand is palming my boob. Two months ago I couldn’t even admit to myself that I wanted this so badly and now I’m in a cheap motel room, half-naked with a girl that has seen me in the Cheerio showers a thousand times.

But this is intimate and scary and freaking amazing all wrapped up into one and I keep pushing away my doubts and try to focus on the amazing surges of pleasure Santana is giving my body. She reaches behind me and undoes my bra with practiced ease and I let it fall from my shoulders. 

Santana pushes me back down onto the bed again and lets her body rest on mine; her hips grinding down into mine lightly, the lacy fabric of her underwear gliding wetly along my thigh. I’ve never done this; I’ve never even really let myself think about this moment but now it’s here and I wish I had the tiniest clue about what to do. Santana is moving with precision and she grinds down hard at one point while biting my collarbone and I can’t control the moan that releases from my throat.

The sound is all she needs to pursue her course of action and she reaches behind her own back to unclasp her bra and pulls it off, leaving me with the mouth-watering sight of her surgically enhanced, perfectly perky tan chest. She grabs my hand and pushes it roughly against one breast and it feels completely foreign and extremely normal all at once. 

I feel her nipple start to harden against my still palm and Santana grinds against me, giving herself the friction that I’m apparently denying her. The groan she releases pulls me back to my senses and I move my hand, cupping the weight of her breast and using my fingers to roll the hardened nipple. She tosses her head back, her hips moving more insistently against me.

I feel empowered by the effect I’m having on her and I take the opportunity to push myself up on my elbows and capture the nipple between my lips instead. Santana releases the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard when I flick my tongue against it and I finally give myself over to the pleasure instead of worrying about what comes next.

I gasp when I feel Santana’s hand cup me through my panties and she hovers above me, her eyes looking down at my face. I’m panting with need and I’m filled with want. She’s surveying me, silently asking for permission. I respond by rolling my hips up into her hand and shutting my eyes tightly before I can think. I’m relieved when she gets the message and moves off of me to pull my underwear down my thighs until I can kick them off.

Santana is sitting back on her heels and the sight is breathtaking. Her hair is tousled and her chest is heaving and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more beautiful. Her hand is back in between my legs resting against my inner thigh and I hold my breath with my eyes shut tightly.

I feel her other hand come up and stroke my cheek as her lips brushing soothingly against mine. She’s soft and patient and I release the breath and allow myself to kiss her back.

“Quinn, look at me,” she says quietly. I feel her increase the distance between us a bit and I crack my eyes open to see her frozen and hovering above me. There’s concern staring back at me and she looks so fucking vulnerable and adorable.

I bite my lip and force myself to not break our gaze. Her hand is still pressed against my inner thigh and I know she’s looking for permission to proceed.

“San…” I whisper. I know she can hear the shakiness of my voice, but I hope she can see how much I want this. I just can’t convince myself to say it out loud.

Her hand inches upwards until she’s cupping me. I know she can feel how wet I am and I immediately blush. She kisses me again lightly before sliding her fingers through my slit and forcing a whimper from me. Her smile is soft and tender and I find comfort in staring into her eyes.

The minutes drag on and I know I’m getting wetter and my hips are starting to move without my control and, damn, I just want to feel her inside me like right now. Her expression changes into a taunting smirk and I know that she’s completely aware of how turned on she’s made me. She finally gives me a little relief by rubbing slow circles on my clit and I moan softly at the sensation.

Her fingers move downwards again and I can feel the slight pressure against my entrance. She is looking down directly into my eyes and I nod slightly before closing my own eyes in anticipation. Santana moves slowly and deliberately, dipping a single digit into me before pulling back out. I feel the need growing exponentially and I just want the feeling of her really inside of me. In my urgency, I push my hips up into her finger, enveloping it with my warmth. We moan in unison and she settles into a rhythm of push and pull, the pad of her finger dragging along my sensitive inner wall.

This is nothing like sex with Puck. He’s my first and until this moment had been my only. With him, it was all about business. I had wanted him; I had wanted to know what all the fuss was about and he made me feel good with his smooth talking. Santana is different in all the right ways. I want her, but it’s not just about getting the deed done. All of it has been about the journey. 

She takes cues from my movements and the sounds falling from my lips to make adjustments. I feel her pull out and re-enter with two fingers, twisting them to give the perfect angle as she pushes in. A loud moan rips from my throat and I can feel her radiating smugness at the effect she’s having on me.

She’s quickly pushing me towards the edge with her fingers moving and her thumb drawing sloppy circles against my clit. My hips are moving with her every movement, drawing her fingers deeper and pushing her pace up a notch. I reach a hand out and run it along her chest, teasing her nipples with quick twists and pinches. I peek out from my hooded eyelids to see her fiery gaze from above me, her jaw slack and her forehead covered in a layer of glistening sweat. 

The sight alone is enough to make me clamp around her fingers. I pull her face down to mine and kiss her greedily, our teeth clashing in passion as my orgasm takes hold. My hips are bucking wildly but Santana hangs on and draws out my pleasure until the heightened sensation is too overwhelming and I push her off of me.

She giggles the sweetest giggle as she brushes the hair out of her face. I roll onto my side to face her, the smile huge on my face as I look at her. We’re in a dingy hotel in Tennessee and all I can see is how sexy she looks lying there in only her lacy thong in amazing contrast to her dark skin.

“C’mere,” I mumble nearly incoherently. I just want her body close to mine as I recover.

She obeys without fuss and moves closer to me, her arm draped lazily over my hip. I inhale the mix of her perfume and our combined sweat and I push my lips against hers again, starting to heat up again already. In all actuality, I have no idea how to reciprocate but I’m determined to get her to feel as amazing as I do right now.

We’re kissing and Santana is moving languidly against my more hurried movements, obviously trying to keep the pace calm for the time being. I’m grateful and annoyed all at once. I’m scared shitless about what I’m supposed to do next, but at the same time I just want it to happen so that it’s over. 

I catch a glance at the alarm clock over Santana’s shoulder and it’s nearly five in the morning. The sun will be rising soon and we’re meeting our friends for breakfast before we finish the drive back to Lima. I really should let Santana sleep because she’s going to insist on driving the bulk of the distance and I don’t want her doing that on absolutely zero sleep two days in a row.

“Q, please stop fretting and fucking kiss me back.”

The nervous giggle slips out of me and she wraps her arm tighter around my waist, holding me close against her. Her lips are on mind, erasing all other thoughts from the forefront of my mind. It’s become a familiar action over the past week and I let myself melt into it, still letting Santana lead.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I say shakily, letting my fingers move up to run across her chest, playing languidly with her nipples. I’m scared to head south right now so this seems like a fair compromise.

“Just keep doing that,” Santana pants, her chest heaving slightly at my ministrations and her lips are back on mine before I can protest.

I kiss her as my fingers explore still tentatively. Santana encourages me with more passionate kisses, her tongue probing my mouth greedily. She pushes into the touch of my hands, her hips rocking into me as she grips my waist tightly. I know she wants more, needs more but I’m terrified.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not okay with, Quinn,” she mumbles, tearing her mouth away from mine and instead leaves a trail of kisses down my jaw and onto my neck.

“I-I want to,” I stutter. “I just have no idea what to do.” I hate admitting that she’s better than me at something after spending so many years as her leader. She’s had three years of sleeping with Brittany while I was wasting my time with the boys of McKinley.

Santana didn’t respond; she lifted her hands until they covered mine. I felt her breath hitch as I kept moving. I could feel her tongue massaging the tendons in my neck, her teeth randomly nipping at them and marking me as hers.

We stay like this for a few long moments, Santana breathing heavily against my skin as my hands play with her nipples. She grasps my hands a little tighter and starts to push one of them south, leaving the left one firmly attached to her breast.

My fingertips skim down her toned stomach, feeling her abs tighten underneath. Her fingers are still holding my hand, but she’s letting me dictate the pace and is giving me the time to adjust to every quarter inch movement. I know this must be sweet torture for her because I know how badly my body had been humming for her touch and this has already been way beyond that. But Santana is being patient and unbelievably sweet and understanding. I know there’s nothing I want more than to repay her for all of that by making her feel even better than she made me feel.

Santana’s hand released mine when we reach the top of her mound. She moved her mouth back up to mine and kissed me tenderly, showing me once again that there’s no rush, no expectations at all. I keep moving downwards one centimeter at a time until I’m cupping her through her thong. It’s completely soaked through and I groaned at the feel of her slippery hot wetness on my hand. 

It is all I need to motivate me to give her what I know she needs. I pull myself up and drag the wet thong down her perfectly tanned legs and toss it off the bed with the rest of our clothing. She’s on her back on the hotel bed, her legs slightly parted and welcoming me in. I drag my gaze up to her face to see her fixated on my face making sure that I’m okay. 

I reach down again and cup her, feeling her smooth, shaved skin against the palm of my hand. I push my fingers further in, parting her lips. They are instantly coated in Santana’s juices and I bite my lip at how turn on it’s making me. I never thought being with a girl would be so damn sensual and it was making me get even lost in what I was doing.

I slide up slowly, passing her entrance as I gather more of her juices and move slowly up to her clit. She jumps when I find it a moment later and I smile with relief that I’m not completely incompetent at this. It feels relatively similar to touching myself, though so much hotter. She’s soft and her lips are full and drenched in her arousal. Her smell is distinctly her own: tangy and sweet and absolutely mouth-watering. I have an urge to taste her, but that also scares the shit out of me so I choose to move my fingers in languid circles around her clit instead, feeling it roll beneath my fingertips. 

Santana’s hips are moving up into my hand and she’s breathing heavily. Her eyes are shut tightly and her hands are tossed above her head, gripping the pillow tightly. I bite my lip at how open and ready she is, how incredible she can look while sweaty and slightly drunk and completely naked.

Feeling more confident, I move down the length of her slit again, gathering more wetness and moving up again, teasing her clit only briefly before tracing my path again. She’s whimpering softly every time I approach and her hips buck as I hit the spots that give her the most pleasure. I stop on my next trail at her entrance and circle it a few times before dipping a finger inside. 

Santana groans then, the first time she has done so audibly since I started touching her like this. I stay still for a second, adjusting to the new surroundings before sliding out slowly. I repeat the action and keep my eyes wandering up and down the beautiful sight that is the Latina below me. Her hips are getting more forceful, matching my own gentle thrusts with a little more need.

“I need more, baby,” she whines, pushing up more frantically into my hand. I gulp because Santana is now calling me by pet names in the middle of sex and because I’m obviously driving her crazy. It’s a rush of power to see her undulating from below me, completely lost in her chase for release.

I pull out suddenly, causing Santana to groan in her frustration, but I re-enter with two fingers this time. She’s tight and my stomach flips at how amazing it feels to have her walls squeeze against my fingers. She’s whimpering softly again and her hips are moving and I realize that I’m not actually moving.

I pull out and enter with more force, causing a guttural moan to be torn from her throat and just like that, I’m off. I’m thrusting in and out, trying to hit her clit with my thumb. As I pull out after a particular hard thrust, I curl my fingers slightly and drag them along her inner wall. The noise she makes is unlike anything I’ve ever heard in my life and I know that I’d do anything just to hear it again.

“God, don’t stop,” she moans and I keep thrusting, trying to curl as I withdraw and pushing my thumb harshly against her clit. All of a sudden she’s clamping down my fingers and I feel her body begin to shake with her orgasm. I watch it all unfold, my fingers buried inside of her as she uses her hips to ride against them.

Finally she reaches down and pushes my hand away, signaling that the sensation has become too much. I can feel her and smell her on my fingers and I can’t resist the urge. I lift them to my mouth, licking tentatively and releasing a small moan as I get my first taste of Santana.

“Holy shit, you are seriously the sexiest woman ever.”

My eyes shoot open again to see Santana looking up at me with a hungry smirk. I smile bashfully and put my whole finger in my mouth, cleaning off the rest of the juices there. I see her body roll with her arousal at the sight and I’m instantly pleased with myself.

She pulls me down on top of her and kisses me hard. Her tongue is in my mouth and she is moaning at the taste of herself and I can feel myself get wet all over again. Santana Lopez has made me completely insatiable.

We get a total of two hours of sleep before Puck is banging on the door. Santana is mumbling under her breath in angry Spanish that I don’t understand. I yell to him that we’re awake before rolling over to face Santana. We’re naked and I feel sticky but I can’t help but smile at how freaking beautiful Santana looks.

I lean forward and kiss her nose, making her wrinkle her forehead adorably.

“San, the guys are here,” I say softly, brushing her thick, dark hair from her face. “We should probably pack up and get going if we want to make it back to Lima at a decent hour.”

She cracks open one eye to look at me. I see the half smile form before she yanks my face towards hers. Her hands are moving along my skin like she’s been doing it forever rather than a couple of hours. I feel her nails scratch lightly along my bare shoulders and I moan into her mouth.

“What if I don’t care about ever making it back to Lima?” she mumbles. I know it’s rhetorical, so I answer her with another kiss instead.

My heart has dropped into my stomach though. We’ve hardly discussed our feelings or what is going to happen when we finally reach Lima or when we leave for college. I can feel happiness and dread radiating off of Santana and I feel exactly the same way. We’re living in a dream right now and neither of us is ready to let go of this.

The banging on the door picks up again; this time it’s much more forceful. I glance over at the alarm clock to see that it’s almost nine already. We still have a lot of driving to do today. Santana knows we can’t continue to delay the inevitable. She pecks my lips once more before rolling out of the bed.

I let my eyes linger on her retreating form as she slinks to the bathroom. She shoots me a smirk over her shoulder before going in and closing the door. I hear the shower turn on and I pull myself out of bed to repack my bag. Santana’s voice is gravelly yet enthralling as she launches into one of her go-to Amy Winehouse songs. I hum along as she sings over the water running, smiling the entire time. 

She emerges ten minutes later fresh-faced and wrapped in nothing but a tiny white hotel towel. I rake her nearly bare body appreciatively, eying the water droplets dripping from her hair and down her shoulders and chest. Everything about Santana is a sight to behold.

“Your turn, Q,” she says, dropping the towel unceremoniously and bending down to rifle through her bag for clean clothes. I gulp at her ass sticking out in my direction. She’s definitely trying to kill me.

I grab my shower things as quickly as possible and disappear into the already steamy bathroom.

I’ve cooled down a little bit by the time I shut the water off. Before I never had a problem controlling my sexual urges by reminding myself that my last rash decision in that category led me to being a mother. Being around Santana makes me completely throw out all my rational thinking.

Thankfully Santana is fully clothed when I emerge. Granted, her legs are completely exposed in her tiny white shorts and the halter-top shows plenty of cleavage and toned arms. But at least I can breathe around her again.

I change quickly, avoiding looking at Santana. I can feel her eyes on me, but I will myself to focus on the task at hand instead of giving into joining her under the covers again.

The boys are waiting in the Jeep when we finally leave our room with bags in hand. Puck is shirtless and is lounging across the backseat while Sam is in the passenger seat drumming on the dashboard. Santana tosses her duffel bag right into an unsuspecting Puck’s lap, who groans under its weight.

Sam laughs at him and Puck gives him a playful glare before sitting up and throwing Santana’s bag into the trunk. I open the door and shove Sam, who scrambles into the back seat next to Puck. Santana plops herself in the driver’s seat, dark sunglasses shading her eyes. She turns the key in the ignition and we’re off once again, the cars with the rest of our friends following behind us.

By the time we stop for lunch, Puck is moaning and clutching his stomach that he’s starving and Santana is on the verge of killing Rachel who has called every twenty miles for the last four hours. We pull into the parking lot of the restaurant and pile out of the car. I notice Rachel immediately dashes inside to put in our name, but I know she’s probably avoiding the wrath of Santana.

We split between a few booths and immediately dive into menus. Santana and I end up sitting with Blaine and Kurt, who are both dressed immaculately for people that had been out drinking all night and have been sitting in a car for hundreds of miles. Santana is too involved with making her many menu selections to even acknowledge their presence, but I chat amicably with them.

It’s not until I feel Santana’s hand rest on my knee right below the hem of my sundress that I lose my concentration. Kurt is rambling about applying for fashion internships since NYADA didn’t work out and Blaine is beaming at him and suddenly their importance has greatly diminished. Santana is rubbing lazy circles with her fingertips and my leg erupts in goose bumps at her feather-light touches. My whole body is igniting, embarrassingly so, from the simplest semi-innocent touch.

Santana seems to notice my cheeks growing warm and she skirts her hand to my inner thigh, pushing my dress up a half-inch. I nearly choke on my Diet Coke and Blaine and Kurt drop their conversation to look at me with concern.

“I’m fine, really. I just need a minute to freshen up.”

I slide out of the booth and head for the ladies’ room still coughing. I jump when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you didn’t need to feign choking, Q.”

I glance up to see Santana’s reflection next to mine in the bathroom mirror. I scowl at her giddy expression. She’s the reason I had a coughing fit and she’s not even sorry.

“Seriously, Santana? I’m half-dying and you’re standing here laughing at me?” I choke out between hacking coughs.

“Do you want me to kiss it and make it all better?” she asks with a sly grin and I have an urge to either slap her or roughly kiss the smirk right off of her face. I choose the latter; before she can react I’ve shoved her against the wall of the bathroom and attack her lips with my own. She grunts as I press myself against her hard, but her hands find purchase on my ass and hold me there.

It’s not until I hear Rachel Berry’s voice from directly outside the bathroom door that I tear myself away from Santana. I’m not sure how long we’ve been in here, but I wipe my mouth hastily and turn to wash my hands at the sink. Santana is just kind of slinking against the tile with swollen red lips and glassy eyes.

Rachel swings the door open and scrutinizes us. I know my dress is wrinkled from the combination of being in a car for hours and from having Santana gripping it as we kissed. My hair is slightly untamed and my lips look thoroughly kissed.

“The food has arrived. I thought you might want to take a break from your sapphic activities to have a proper meal before we get back on the road.”

I have the decency to blush at Rachel’s comment, but Santana just scowls like she’s unhappy that we were interrupted. I mean, what did she think was going to happen in a public restroom? I turn the faucet off and grab a handful of paper towels before following Rachel out of the bathroom. Santana is right behind me and she reaches out to grab hold of my hand as we walk back to the table.

A grilled chicken salad is waiting for me next to Santana’s massive plate holding her cheeseburger, fries, and onion rings. She has hardly sat down before she’s shoving a handful of fries into her mouth. It’s typical Santana, and it should be completely repulsive considering she’s eating like a cave woman. Yet I find myself not caring as long as there are more days like this in the future.

As soon as the bill is paid, we gas up and get coffee from the gas station across the street before heading back onto the highway. We have about four more hours to go before we’ll be entering the city limits of Lima.

Puck passes out within the first hour back onto the road and Sam is playing some game on his PSP. It feels like it’s just Santana and I tackling the endless stretch of highway together. We laugh and sing our way through the rest of Kentucky and into Southern Ohio, my hand covering Santana’s on the gearshift.

There’s a change in the atmosphere as soon as we hit the “Welcome to Lima” sign on the outskirts of town. Santana’s posture is more stiff, her expression more serious. I fight the urge to relinquish my grip on her hand. It feels weird to be home after everything that had happened this week.

We pull up at Puck’s house a few minutes later and I’m forced to let go of Santana’s hand so I can let the boys climb out of the backseat. We hug and all promise to hang out before Santana and I leave for college. 

Once we get back into the car, silence falls over us. Neither of us want the spell to be broken and speaking about it guarantees that everything will come crashing down around us. I look out straight through the windshield as Santana backs out of the driveway and starts to head in the direction of our neighborhood on the other side of town.

As we pull into our development, I finally get the courage to open my mouth.

“I really don’t want to go home,” I say quietly, instantly embarrassed. Part of it is me not wanting to leave Santana after all of this, but a large part is the dread settling in that my mom will probably be drunk and passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of wine. There will be a dinner by myself and a whole night of lying in my room counting the hours until I can be setting up my new life in New Haven.

Santana doesn’t respond or question me in the slightest. Instead she bypasses my block and continues straight to her house. We pull into the driveway and she kills the engine. I follow her up the stone pathway and through the front door. Something smells fantastic, which really isn’t uncommon. Santana’s mom is a great cook and one of the sweetest ladies I know. It always amazed me that Santana was, in fact, her daughter, but she often blames Santana’s rude language and bitchy attitude on the fact that her grandmother Lopez used to babysit her often when she was young.

“My Santana! You’re back!” Mrs. Lopez exclaimed as we walked into the kitchen. She was wearing her apron and she dropped her wooden spoon back into the pot she was stirring so that she could come over and hug Santana.

Santana let her mother hold her tight for a few seconds before pulling away and putting some space between them. Mrs. Lopez laughed and turned to look at me.

“Hi, Quinn! Are you staying over for dinner?” My family life was Lima’s worst kept secret. I appreciate the fact that Mrs. Lopez didn’t even question why I wasn’t at my own house having dinner on the first hour that we are back in town. Immediately I’m enveloped in a tight, yet thankfully short, hug.

“Yes, Ma’am, if it’s no trouble,” I say politely, giving her a small smile.

“Quinn, honey, of course it’s no trouble. And I wish you’d stop this ma’am nonsense and start calling me Maribel.”

I nod dumbly, knowing that my Fabray upbringing is so ingrained that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to call her anything but ma’am or Mrs. Lopez.

“We’ll be in my room,” Santana tells her mom and grabs my arm, dragging me from the kitchen.

I follow in Santana’s wake along the familiar path. We pad up the stairs and into Santana’s room. In all actuality, it is more like an apartment built inside her parents’ house. All it was missing was a kitchen and that would have been stupid to install because nobody in his or her right mind would turn down Mrs. Lopez’s cooking. Her parents had let her decorate it however she saw fit and never complained about the loud music that was often blasting from her surround sound. Santana has the perfect life as the oldest child and only girl.

Santana closes the door behind me as soon as I had cross the threshold and snaps the lock into place. We are alone and I have her all to myself and we are back at Lima, but some of the magic had been shaken off as soon as we had passed my house. 

Things aren’t easy here. We can’t be carefree and spend our days doing anything we wanted with absolutely no consequences. All of it is starting to press down upon me and I can feel the tension making its way into my shoulders.

“What do we do from here, Q?” Santana asks as she starts to unpack her suitcase. I never thought there would be a day when Santana would initiate a discussion about her feelings with me, not after everything we’ve been through over the past four years.

“I’m not out. I’m not even sure I’m gay, San. Is it really fair of me to ask you to go back into the closet so we can have a few nights of great sex before we both leave for college with almost a thousand miles separating us?”

“Is any of life ever going to be fair?” Santana asks, her brow furrowed and her tone obviously challenging.

“You know what I mean. It’s not realistic for us to act like this can become anything.”

Santana throws a pair of shoes into her closet with a little more force than necessary. I know she is heating up; I had seen Santana like this a million times.

“It’s unrealistic to think that it’s not already something. You can hole yourself up in the closet of denial all you want, Q, but you kissed me on that beach because you wanted to. You spent a week happily with me being more than just friends. You made love to me last night. That’s right, even I knew it was more than sex. So tell yourself whatever you need to so that you can sleep at night, but don’t for a second try to make me buy into your bullshit.”

I am stunned. Santana is always brutally honest with people: whether it is about their clothes or their annoying personality traits, Santana always tells people exactly how it was. Her words pierce through me like icy daggers. Everything she said is completely true and she is forcing it in my face to deal with. I am better at hiding, at skirting through life where I don’t let my emotions play a part in my actions. But this week has destroyed all of that. I let the setting sun paint Santana in a beautiful, irresistible light. I let my actions match my inner emotions. And here I was, letting tears run down my face in the middle of Santana’s bedroom all because she made me hear the truth.

Mrs. Lopez calls us for dinner and Santana huffs, walking into her bathroom and slamming the door. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. Santana comes back into the room, her face obviously having been washed. She sweeps past me and out the door before I can even string a sentence together.

I had no choice but to follow her. On my way down the stairs I compose myself, ready to wear my mask to get through this meal. Mrs. Lopez has the table piled with food. Mr. Lopez is sitting at the head of the table wearing his scrubs from the hospital. As soon as he notices Santana and I, he smiles happily and gets up to hug us. I let him embrace me before taking the empty seat across from Santana. It was my normal seat; the empty one next to Santana had always been Britt’s and it still felt weird to fill that void.

Santana’s parents chat animatedly with us as we eat and I feel the pang of jealousy at her family life just like every time I’m over here. She doesn’t seem interested in talking to her parents about the trip, so I fill in the basic details for them instead.

As soon as we clear our plates, Santana yanks my arm and pulls me back into her bedroom. It’s the last place I want to be, but she hasn’t really given me a chance to object. I don’t even see her close the door yet my back slams against it when she pushes me.

“What the fuck, Santana?” I growl angrily and try to twist out of her grip. It’s useless with the hold she has and I’m growing angrier with every passing second.

“Just shut up. For once can you manage to not fight me on something?” 

God, I want to hit her, yell at her. I want out of her bedroom even if it means returning to my own miserable home. 

“This isn’t some vacation fluke that you can write off because you’re too damn scared. I’m not going to let you do that to yourself or me. You’re so freaking frustrating, Quinn!”

I wanted to bite back but it was so hard to maintain my appearance of not caring when I could see the fire in Santana’s eyes. It wasn’t the typical one I was on the receiving end of when she was trying to take me down. They were pleading and emotional under the anger.

“How can we possibly do this?” I whisper, my voice cracking with the strain of holding back my tears.

“There are phones and computers and weekend visits and holiday breaks in Lima. Don’t you want to at least not have any regrets? If we don’t even try I’m gonna regret it for the rest of my life, Q, and I don’t want to live like that. I know you don’t either.”

“And if it falls apart? We’ll lose our friendship and everything. I don’t want to lose you, San.”

I couldn’t stop the tears anymore. I felt the warm droplets roll down my cheeks and swiped at them with the back of my hand.

“It’s impossible for us to not be in the other’s life at this point, whether it’s as old glee club friends or as something more.”

I know she’s right; we’re too wrapped together to not always have connections. Even if we wanted to get away from one another, it would be impossible with glee club gossip and reunions. 

I answer her by pushing forward and capturing her lips. She moves against me, her tears mixing with my own. My arms are around her waist and I know she just fits there. 

The odds are against us from every angle. In two weeks, Santana will be nearly a thousand miles from me living her own life. But I’m not ready to give up on this.

~!~!~!~

Santana and Rachel are the first leaving for college. Puck insists on having a party to get us all together one last time before life changes. Santana and I attend begrudgingly; I would have definitely rather spent her last night in Lima with her all to myself. But instead I’m in Puck’s backyard clutching a plastic water bottle. Across the yard, I watch Rachel cling to Finn’s arm, tears streaming down her face and a half-empty wine cooler clutched in her hand. She has cried at least five times already tonight as she says her goodbyes

“At least I’m not that pathetic about leaving,” Santana scoffs from beside me. She’s been quiet all night and I know she’s just as upset as Rachel is about leaving tomorrow evening even if she doesn’t show it. Part of me thinks she’s denying that she’s leaving at all; she hasn’t actually said goodbye to a single person all night. Instead, she’s been standing next to me, casually brushing against my shoulder and clutching a beer. It’s still her first of the night and she’s been milking it for hours.

When Rachel starts fully sobbing and Finn can no longer calm her down, we take it as our cue to leave. She gives me a tight hug and soaks my shoulder with her tears in the process. I pull away and say goodbye to the rest of our friends before heading through the gate to my car.

Santana is sitting in the front seat already, her feet bare and resting on the dashboard. In the moonlight, she looks absolutely stunning and it makes me wish that I had my camera with me to capture the moment. I climb into the driver’s seat and realize that Santana hadn’t said goodbye to anybody before heading for the car. I debate for a second whether I should make her talk about it or force her to admit that this is, in fact, happening. 

I decide I’m better off not starting a fight. If Santana doesn’t want to say goodbye to them, it’s her business. I’d rather enjoy the last night with my girlfriend.

My body shudders at even thinking of her as my girlfriend. Things had been pretty great since the Florida trip even if we were kind of sneaking around our parents. Her parents had welcomed her relationship with Brittany, but I knew that they saw how much of a mess Santana was when they had broken up. I knew that Mrs. Lopez didn’t look at Brittany quite in the same light anymore and I didn’t want to open that door when we had no idea how the next few months would play out. Santana went along with it figuring it was just part of me still being locked in the closet and I was grateful for the lack of pressure coming from her.

She leans over and rests her head against my shoulder as I weave down the side streets on the way back to her house. We don’t speak, but the murmur of the radio is enough to keep it from being uncomfortable.

I park on the street in front of her house and turn the key. It gets silent when the radio clicks off and I feel Santana tense slightly against my shoulder. I don’t want to make the first move, so I just sit there awkwardly letting her headrest on my shoulder. I watch her hands; they are twisting in her lap with obviously nervousness.

Santana picks up her head and opens the car door, climbing out and walking to the front door. I follow suit and scramble after her. The house is dark, her parents already having gone to bed. She unlocks the door and eases it open as quietly as she can manage. The only light is the dim glow of the nightlight above the stove, but Santana leads me through the house slowly, her fingers intertwined with mine. Her sweaty palm is pressed against mine and I can actually feel her rapid heartbeat pulsing through it as we close ourselves in her bedroom.

My old opinion of Santana would involve the fact that she would want to have a crazy hot sex marathon before we were going to be separated for a couple of months. But Santana is bordering on somber and depressed right now so I just eye her cautiously. 

She pulls an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts from a drawer and replaces her tiny dress with the clothes in one quick motion. I dig through my own overnight bag and extract pajamas and change as well. We share the sink in her bathroom to brush our teeth and I follow her back into the bedroom. She climbs into her bed and I hit the light switch and crawl in next to her and pulling the comforter over the both of us.

Santana is distant, both mentally and physically. I slide along the mattress to close some of the distance between us but refrain from touching her. Her eyes are closed, but I can still see the worry sitting just beneath the surface. We lay there in silence, a foot of space between us but knowing that the other is awake. I rub my fingers along the material of the comforter to keep from reaching out for her.

“Everything is going to be different,” Santana says finally. I have no idea how long we’ve been lying in silence, but I’m relieved to hear her voice again. It’s not confident and piercing like Santana’s words usually are, but it is still a million times better than silence.

“Of course it is. Life is always changing. But that doesn’t mean it’s not going to be great,” I say optimistically.

“What if it is just too different and we can’t handle it?” she asks, her voice weak.

“San, you’re the bravest girl I know. Most people wouldn’t come out in a judgmental little farm town or would risk their popularity to join Glee Club.” I let myself reach out and stroke her hair, scratching my nails lightly along her scalp.

“Louisville is much bigger than McKinley and I’m gonna spend four years on the bottom of a pyramid to pay for an education that I don’t care so much about. I can’t pull the stupid shit I did here to get ahead or they’ll just toss me off the team and then I’ll have nothing to fall back on.”

It hurt to hear how worried Santana was. We hadn’t talked much about her accepting the scholarship. Most of our high school years involved us being in the same circles but having very little in terms of a real friendship. She always had Brittany, so I was more just around so that we could all maintain appearances. It wasn’t until Brittany and Santana had broken up that I had grown closer to Santana. Even then, we talked about her relationship and her past, but never really took the time to discuss the future and what she really wanted out of it.

“Do you not want to go to Louisville?” I ask quietly, continuing to soothe her with my fingers.

“I don’t know what I want. I’m eighteen and I’m supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life and I really just have no fucking clue. Louisville gives me a chance to get an education and save the money my mom gave me but I hate cheerleading and the only way to make it work is to cheer for the next four years.”

“She gave you that money for a reason, S. Your mom wants you to be able to follow your heart wherever it may take you.”

“I promised my dad I would at least try to make things work at Louisville before tapping into the money. I know he wishes I was motivated to be a doctor like him or something equally impressive. You know that I had talked to Berry about getting an apartment together in New York? I thought I’d try to make it work there, but then I talked to my dad and I just can’t let him down. He’s been so good to me and he deserves to have a daughter than he’s proud of.”

“Your dad is already proud of you. It’s impossible to not see it every time he looks at you.”

“You’re just saying that,” Santana mumbles, rolling onto her side so that she’s facing me.

“I’m not. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve seen it and have felt so jealous of you for it. I would do anything under the sun to make my parents proud and it’ll never earn me the look your dad gives you every single time you walk into a room.”

“Q...” Santana starts, but I cut her off.

“It’s fine, San. I came to terms with it a long time ago and I’m going to my dream school with my whole life ahead of me. You’ll find your dream and if it’s not at Louisville, then I’m sure your dad will support that wholeheartedly.”

“You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

I laugh, feeling the warmth melt through my body. Santana scoots closer to me, draping her arm over my hip and starts rubbing tiny circles on the small of my back.

“I never thought I’d be spending the night before I left for college with Quinn Fabray in my bed,” Santana says, her smile reaching her eyes for the first time all night.

“None of us thought it would be like this. We all thought you and Britt would make it last forever.”

“Everybody did except Britt. She missed the memo on that one,” Santana says, a hint of bitter resentment in her voice.

“Do you miss her?” I ask, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

“Sometimes, but more in the sense that I miss having my best friend around all the time. It was the best thing about being together. Sure, the sex was great and shit but we used to spend hours just lying around and talking about everything and now we never really see each other unless it’s in a group.”

“Do you think you guys will ever work it out?”

“Nah, Britt’s not the kind of person that should ever be tied down for long. She’s going to fly and I want her to be able to go wherever the world takes her. She’ll be my first love, but that’s it.”

Santana seemed confident in her answer and I knew that she was probably right. Brittany was a free spirit and she would do much better touring the world as a dancer than being a housewife to Santana. They had made the mature decision regarding the future of their relationship and I could respect that.

“Will you come to Louisville sometime in the fall?” Santana asked, her voice sounding meek with her insecurities leaking through her strong outer shell.

“You know I’ll do my best. We’re both going to be making big adjustments but we’ll make time to talk and I’ll definitely see you for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s three months away, Q.”

“We’ll work on it, okay? But can we please just enjoy our last few hours together?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she says, using her arm to coax me closer to her.

I wake up to Santana straddling my hips and her hands pushing my t-shirt up to run them along my ribs and the underside of my breasts. She’s smirking playfully down at me when I finally open my eyes and meet hers. Santana bends down and kisses me and there’s much more behind it than a good morning peck.

I don’t even have time to think about having morning breath when Santana swipes her tongue along my lip and then bites down playfully. My insides melt under her gentle caresses and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to get lost in the moment and not fixate on the fact that this is our last morning together for a very long time.

I don’t bother trying to stop her as she pulls each of my layers of clothing from my body or when she then strips herself down. She slides back on top of me, pressing herself into me; we fit like a jigsaw puzzle. Santana needs to be in control and I let her, melting into her aggressive kisses and deft touches. It has only been three weeks of exploring like this yet Santana already knows exactly what I need. It’s merely minutes later that I’m moaning her name and arching into her touch.

Santana doesn’t even relinquish control when it comes to her own pleasure. She rocks her hips to dictate the speed and depth of my fingers buried within her. We keep eye contact until the moment of her first spasm. She tosses her head back with a moan, her hips moving furiously as she rides out the waves of pleasure.

Afterwards she rolls off of me and collapses limply onto the bed while trying to catch her breath. Her sweaty body is pressed against mine and I can’t remember another moment where I’ve felt this content.

Mrs. Lopez has a huge breakfast waiting for us downstairs. She gives me a knowing look like she’s aware that Santana and I are more than friends as soon as Santana insists that I sit in Brittany’s old chair. I blush furiously, but take the seat anyway.

Most of the morning is spent loading Santana’s belongings into the back of her Jeep. Puck and Sam stop by to help and the four of us eat sandwiches and drink iced tea on her front porch on our break from the work. Santana is looking tense again and I wish I could rub her shoulders or stroke her hair but Mrs. Lopez is weeding her garden on the other side of the yard.

The boys give her massive hugs and Puck slips a bottle of vanilla vodka, Santana’s favorite, into one of the boxes as a going away present. She manages to keep her tears locked up once again.

As soon as the boys drive away, I take her back up to her bedroom. I dig through my bag and extract the box buried under my clothes. I hand it to her sheepishly, afraid she won’t like the present.

Santana tears the paper haphazardly and lets it fall to the floor. She pulls the lid off of the box and looks down at the contents. I watch the smile find its way onto her face as she pulls one item at a time out. It’s all just a collection of little silly things: a handful of photos of us from throughout high school and this summer, a couple of sample sizes of liquor bottles, my personal Cheerio pom-pom, and a small stuffed koala bear.

“This is sweet, Quinn, thank you,” she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. I pull her close, hugging her against me as she starts sobbing. We stay like that for a long time, me comforting her in silence as she clutches onto me.

Finally the tears subside and she pulls away, wiping her eyes.

“I just figured I’d get a head start on sending you care packages,” I reply, giving her a meaningful smile. I already have part of the next one started that I’m going to mail her when I move into Yale.

She pulls me in again, but this time it’s to kiss me. My insides tighten, knowing this is the last time that we’re going to have a moment like this for a while. I kiss her back, letting all of my emotions pulse through it, letting her feel how much I want this to work.

We only separate when Mrs. Lopez calls up the stairs to ask if Santana is ready to leave. Her parents are driving down separately to help her move into her dorm and they need to get on the road.

I kiss her once more and wipe her tears with the pads of my thumbs before leading the way out of her bedroom.

Mr. Lopez is already situated in the driver’s seat of their Lexus SUV when we get out onto the front porch. Mrs. Lopez is standing by her door looking at the directions on her phone and avoids looking up at us. Santana throws herself into my arms and hugs me tightly, her hand grasping at the base of my neck.

“You’re going to be amazing,” I tell her, meaning it wholeheartedly. “Call me when you get settled in tonight.”

She nods, seemingly unable to speak. I give her one more small hug then nudge her in the direction of her car. I walk over to my own and climb into the driver seat. I allow myself one glance over my shoulder and a quick wave to her before I pull away from the curb and disappear down the block.

When Santana calls me that evening, I climb out of my window and sit on the roof. It’s not quite the view we had in Florida, yet I feel like I’m back in that sand wrapped up in Santana. Her voice is soothing and I let myself get lost in it as the sun sets over the rooftops of Lima.

“I miss you, Quinn,” she says as the darkness begins to take over. “I’ve missed you since the moment I left.”

“Miss you too, San,” I mumble, willing myself not to cry over a simple phone call.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? And every day after that.”

“Please don’t make promises that are impossible,” I beg her. I can’t handle being let down by broken promises right now.

“It’s not impossible,” she says simply. “Goodnight, Q.”

And with that, the line goes dead.


	2. You're Steady As I Come Undone

The shortest route from Yale University to University of Louisville is 857 miles long. That’s fifteen hours on the road with no breaks for gas, food, or using the bathroom. Making a weekend trip simply isn’t a reasonable option although I want it to be. Even if I left first thing on Friday morning, I wouldn’t get there until the middle of the night on Friday and I would have to leave before dawn on Sunday to get back in time for classes on Monday morning. I can continue to stare at the horribly long, blue line that connect New Haven to Louisville in Google Maps, but it won’t change the fact that I really can’t afford to visit Santana.

Instead, I’m sitting at my desk staring at the computer screen on Thursday night waiting for Santana to finally find the time for our video chat date that has been postponed every night for a week. I know she’s busy; in reality, I am too. Yet I seem to find time in my schedule to stick to my promises. When I tell her I’ll call, I make sure I do.

It’s twenty minutes past eight, which means Santana is already running behind schedule. I sigh and flip back to the paper I should be working on instead of staring at her offline username. Writing about Greek mythology is about the last thing I wish to be doing right now but I refuse to let myself sulk for another night in a row.

The door creaks open and I glance up to see Jocelyn, my closest friend at Yale, peering through the crack.

“Is it a safe zone?” she asks, knowing that Santana was supposed to be on my video chat right now.

“I guess so, she’s not even online,” I say bitterly and glancing at the time on my laptop screen again. 8:45.

“She’s probably just bogged down, Quinn. Doesn’t she have midterms this week?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t gotten more than a handful of text messages in six days.” I want to slam the laptop shut and give up on her, but deep down I know that Santana isn’t standing me up because she wants to. At least, I allow myself to believe it.

Jocelyn strides across my tiny dorm room and settles in on my bed like it’s her second home. It pretty much is; my roommate has basically set up camp in the library and goes home every weekend to see her high school boyfriend. Jocelyn’s roommate, on the other hand, is a high maintenance bitch that spends most of her time running around with sorority girls and always has a gaggle of loud, giggly girls in their room.

My phone buzzes and I jump up to grab it off the top of my dresser.

I just got out of study hall for cheerleading and I really need to shower and study for my history test in the morning. I’m sorry, Q. Call me tomorrow?

My urge is to not even bother responding to her in my annoyance. Six days in a row I’ve dealt with the same exact thing, just with varying excuses. I’m taking five classes, I’ve joined three clubs, and yet I still find time to never miss my turns to call or video chat. I know I shouldn’t be that surprised; Santana has always been more focused on her self than anybody else in her life, including Brittany.

Thinking of our blonde friend makes me wonder if Santana has been finding time to keep in touch with her. A surge of jealousy flows through me thinking that Santana would be finding time to call her ex-girlfriend when she can barely find time to answer my text messages or e-mails. I do slam my laptop this time and join Jocelyn on my bed, my head resting against her shoulder as I sigh loudly.

“What are your plans for the weekend?” Jocelyn asks, knowing better than to even bring up the fact that Santana obviously stood me up.

“I have this paper to finish, but other than that I don’t have anything,” I reply, hoping that Jocelyn has unearthed something that will keep my mind off of picking up and flying to Louisville to see Santana.

“Then you’re coming to the football game and you’re going to tailgate and everything like a normal college kid. I can’t believe you’ve been here two months and you still haven’t made it to a game.”

I shrug, knowing there’s not really a good excuse. At first, I just really had no interest in getting wrapped up in football after spending most of my Friday nights in high school cheering on the sidelines for a losing team. Last time there was a game, I was in New York visiting Kurt and Rachel. In all actuality, I wasn’t really avoiding it, I just hadn’t really had the urge to go partake in this apparently huge college tradition.

“Ryan invited me to tailgate with his rugby team. They tailgate with the women’s team too, I’m sure there will be lots of nice athletic girls that you could have fun with instead of pining for Santana,” Jocelyn suggests. 

She’s never actually met Santana, but it’s been very clear that she’s not that impressed with her little interactions via video chat. Santana wasn’t exactly friendly and welcoming either; in fact, she pretty much wrote Jocelyn off as soon I introduced them through the computer screen. Ever since, she would slide in a snide remark about my friend whenever we talked. In my opinion, Santana just felt threatened by the fact that I had made an instant friend at college.

“I am not pining for Santana,” I say defensively even though I know Jocelyn kind of has a point.

“You’ve sat at your computer every night this week for her to ignore you repeatedly. That’s like a perfect definition of pining, Quinn.”

I loved my friendship with Jocelyn, but I hated that she pushed me to talk about these things when it was the last thing that I really wanted to do.

“I’ll come to the stupid football game and meet all these rugby girls you’re shamelessly trying to set me up with,” I respond, figuring it’ll get her to change the topic.

“Good choice, Fabray,” she says with a giggle before getting up and pulling two beers out of my mini fridge. I accept the can she holds out to me and we spend the rest of the evening watching Grey’s Anatomy and drinking cheap beer in near silence.

Well, at least there’s only four more weeks until Thanksgiving break.

~!~!~!~

I shouldn’t be this excited to be back in Lima. The brown leaves blow along the side of the road, the grass has died and adds to the depressing atmosphere of Ohio in November. It is nothing compared to the vibrant colors of the foliage in the northeast. Yale was beautiful when I left campus this morning. One flight later, I was sitting in the passenger seat on my mom’s Lexus as she crawled down the streets of Lima in the direction of our house.

I hop out of the car as soon as she pulls into the driveway and I grab my small suitcase from the backseat. I only have an hour before I am supposed to be at the high school for the glee meeting. Mr. Schue had e-mailed us all asking to help mentor the new members while we were home and then we were going to have a gathering at Rachel’s afterwards. I take a five-minute shower to wash off the grimy feeling from the plane and I throw on a knee length dress and my favorite cardigan before blowing my short hair dry and re-applying my makeup. Within half an hour, I’m back downstairs. My sister, Frannie, and her husband, Mark, are sitting at the kitchen counter with mugs of coffee. Frannie gets up and gives me a big hug, although it’s difficult with the bulge of her pregnant stomach. She exclaims over my new haircut and highlights for a minute before I announce that I need to leave and grab the spare keys to my mom’s car off of the hook by the front door.

I make it to the high school in less than ten minutes, so I’m really early but for some reason I’m really excited to be back again. All of us had made the trip back for our first Thanksgiving after high school and it was going to be so nice to see everyone again. Particularly one person that I had missed the most.

The secretary makes me sign in as a visitor and she seems surprised when I give her a warm smile and do so with no complaint. I guess my high school reputation still far precedes me in this town. I take the visitor tag she hands me and stick it to my cardigan before taking off down the halls.

Rachel, Kurt, and Puck are already in the choir room when I stride in and they all jump up, Kurt and Rachel squealing loudly. I saw them a few weeks, but the excitement of us all being back here together was obviously rubbing off on everybody. Puck stood back to let them get their hugs before pulling me into his strong arms and giving me a tight, long embrace. I feel his lips brush against my forehead and I realize how much I missed him. One by one, returning members, alumni, and new members walk into the room. Every new person spurs new squeals or introductions and the volume in the room keeps increasing. I say hi and catch up with my old friends, but I keep one eye trained on the door. Santana said she would try to get out of practice early enough to be here, but I know better than to get my hopes up.

A few minutes after the bell rings, Mr. Schue finally walks in, his hands holding a huge pile of sheet music that he drops onto the piano before beaming at us all. I feel like I’m back in high school sitting in the red plastic chair in the back of the room next to Brittany and Puck. Rachel is sitting perfectly straight in the first row, her attention completely fixed on our old teacher. I suppress the urge to giggle at how easily we convert back into our high school selves in this room.

Schue gets us all pumped about the assignment and writes some inspiration on the board as he passes out the sheet music. My attention is more focused on taking in the younger girl in a cheerleading uniform sitting a row ahead of me. So much about her reminds me of my early Cheerio days, from the smirk that is plastered on her face, to her perfectly executed ponytail and the way her shoulders are pushed back in a dominant stance. She’s obviously the new McKinley queen bitch.

By the time that we’re about to break into smaller groups to mentor the new kids, the heavy wooden door swings open with a loud bang and all of us turn to see who is interrupting our meeting. To my surprise, it’s Santana, who looks absolutely stunning in a short dress with a loud floral pattern on it and a pair of high stilettos.

Her eyes lock with mine from across the room and she struts with a purpose, completely ignoring everybody else as she ascends the rows until she’s standing right in front of me. Her hand grabs the front of my dress and pulls me towards her, capturing my lips in a rough, bruising kiss.

I want to be mad at the fact that she didn’t even bother to text me today or that she’s kind of been blowing me off regularly for months. But the feeling of her satin lips against mine and the achingly familiar taste of her tongue as it pushes into my mouth causes me to forget all rational thought.

I lose track of time, but finally Santana pulls away and smiles at me before shoving Puck over so she can flop down into his seat. Santana offers no explanation despite that pretty much everyone in the room is looking at her with their jaws hanging open. I let the giggle slip out as I catch a glimpse of Mr. Schue’s face which is a mix between horror and utter disbelief.

“Can we get on with it?” Santana asks bluntly, reaching over to grab my hand that is nestled in my lap. Mr. Schue pulls himself together and the rest of the lesson proceeds as planned.

“What the fuck was that entrance about, Santana?” I hiss through gritted teeth as we walk down the nearly abandoned halls of McKinley towards the visitor parking lot.

“I’m not allowed to show affection to my girl?” she asks nonchalantly, dragging her fingernails along the lockers as we walk, making the hallway echo with the metallic rattling.

“How am I possibly your girl? I haven’t seen you in three months. We hardly speak once a week, San. How does any of that add up to us being so stable that you can walk in and pull a stunt like that without even thinking about how I might feel?”

I’m angry now that the shock has worn off. I missed Santana so much since she left for Kentucky. Every night, all I could think about was the perfect nights we spent together from our Florida vacation until she pulled out of that driveway in August as I laid alone in my dorm bed after another night of her excuses for why she couldn’t call.

Santana stops in the middle of the hallway and I nearly laugh when I realize that we’re standing right outside my old locker. God, could this seriously be more cliché? How many times had I stood in this hallway and yelled at Puck or Finn? I was at Yale freaking University, yet I’m standing in the hallway of my high school fighting with my quasi-girlfriend. I look up to glare at her, deciding it’s her fault that I’m completely reverting into my high school self, which is someone I vowed I’d leave in the halls of this place.

“I haven’t so much as kissed another person since I said goodbye to you.” Her voice is weak, cracking slightly as she speaks.

I pry my eyes away from the drug abuse poster and look at her. Santana looks more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes are pleading with me to understand, to forgive. My anger begins to dissipate, but I know I can’t just forgive her on the spot based on one statement.

“Nobody?” I ask incredulously even though there’s no hint of a lie in Santana’s eyes. She shakes her head minutely and stares down at her feet.

“Why not?” I ask before I can stop myself, even though I am not sure what I really want to hear. I want to be mad at her for how things have been since she left for Kentucky, not pity her for the fact that she hasn’t gotten laid since then.

“Because you’re the one thing in my life that I’m actually trying to not completely screw up.”

The statement catches me off guard. Santana’s life has been occupied with everything besides me for the past three months.

“I’m dropping out of Louisville at the end of the semester. I quit cheerleading yesterday. Everything is falling apart because I’m such a failure and I can’t take that I was screwing up with you too.”

“I hooked up with someone else,” I blurt, my guilt getting the best of me. “It isn’t serious or anything,” I quickly follow up.

She continues to stare at her feet and doesn’t answer me. I feel my anxiety growing, hoping that I’m not ruining everything with this admission. We’re technically in an open relationship, if we even have that left after how the past few months have been.

“San, she means nothing to me. I’ve been so lonely and I’ve been angry and I’ve missed you so damn much and I wanted to just forget about all of that even for just one day.”

“I’m sorry that I broke the promise I made you on the very first night,” Santana finally says after another long moment of tense silence.

“It was an impossible promise in the first place,” I reply. I had warned her at the time and as much as I knew that she was never going to be able to keep it, I was upset that she had broken it so easily like it meant nothing to her.

“Then I shouldn’t have made it. You deserve better than broken promises and an absent girlfriend who can’t handle her own damn life.”

“You can handle it, you just didn’t pick the right path the first time around,” I say softly, trying to ease her pain. “We’ll talk about it, San. I promise you and I will sit down and actually talk for once, okay? But right now everybody is expecting us at Rachel’s.”

She doesn’t argue but I catch her wiping a stray tear before she takes off out the side door and makes a beeline for her own car.

I take the long way to Rachel’s so that Santana and I don’t have the awkwardness of walking in together. I don’t think I could stand the catcalling from our friends while not knowing where Santana and I really stand at the moment.

Santana is across the room when I emerge from the staircase and enter Rachel’s basement. She catches my eye and gives a small smile before turning her attention back to Mercedes. I want to peel my eyes away, but her dress hugs her every curve and the killer heels make her calves flex and I can’t help but let myself appreciate the view.

“Welcome, Quinn! Can I interest you in a wine cooler or in some hors d’oeuvres?” Rachel is standing beside me holding a small tray with random finger foods on it and gestures towards the collection of booze on the side of the room.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I say to her with a fake smile. 

I’m anything but fine, but eating extra calories and getting drunk doesn’t seem like the best of ideas at the moment. So my Fabray ability to ignore my problems and act normal kicks in and I pour myself a glass of Diet Coke instead and survey the room. Kurt is the farthest from where Santana is standing, so I make a beeline for him in my attempt to avoid acknowledging our awkwardness in front of all of our friends.

The afternoon fades into evening, which is represented by the delivery of a ten pizzas and the increasing buzzes of my friends. I swipe a slice from Rachel’s vegan pie that everybody else is avoiding and sit with her as she rambles on about how amazing everything is at NYADA. I continue to smile at her, knowing how much she loves that we’ve managed to become friends after everything that we’ve gone through. Nobody deserves happiness the way Rachel Berry does and she fights for every ounce of it that she gets.

Despite the conversation, my gaze keeps straying over Rachel’s shoulder to where Santana is sitting between Puck and Mike, the three of them chugging from their beers in between sloppy bites of their pizza. Santana is laughing hysterically at something that Mike said and I know she’s only a couple beers away from a completely high school Santana drunken meltdown. I make a mental note to keep track of her and I turn back to Rachel talking about her auditions for the spring musical.

Santana pulls herself up from the couch as soon as the last bite of her pizza has disappeared and grabs Mercedes arm, dragging her up onto Rachel’s little stage, immediately pulling a pink, sparkly microphone from the stand.

“Let’s get some karaoke up in here, Berry!” she says into the microphone, her words slightly slurred and a goofy smile gracing her face. I can’t help the rush of happy memories that overtake me at seeing a carefree Santana again. It feels like we could be back in Florida, dancing late into the night and not having a worry in the world.

Rachel jumps up to set up the sound system and Artie sets up the computer with the endless library of music.

“Time to bring down the house, Wheezy!” Santana announces as the first bars of a Kelly Clarkson song emanate from the speakers. I laugh, feeling warm at the sight unfolding in front of me. The two of them play off one another, Santana dancing around giddily while Mercedes belts from her microphone stand.

Santana catches my eye and winks as she sings the chorus and I feel my stomach twist. It’s crazy how easy it is to fall back into my smitten state even after three months of being frustrated and angry with her.

It only takes another hour before Santana is a weeping mess. It’s barely after nine and she’s bawling into Puck’s shoulder. She keeps trying to talk, but her words are coming out jumbled and nobody really has any idea what she’s trying to say. Finally, I begin to pity her and desert my post on the other side of the room.

“C’mon, San, say goodbye to everybody,” I say softly, dragging her up from the couch and keeping my arm to steady her on her wobbly legs.

Santana gives a careless wave to the room of our drunken friends and allows me to lead her slowly up the stairs without complaint. Her tears ebb as we drive along the quiet Lima streets, being replaced with her sniffling. I turn on the radio and try to focus on the road instead of her.

The Lopezes are out and I pull into Santana’s empty spot in the driveway before hopping out of the car to help her into the house. It’s only just after ten and I’m absolutely exhausted and can’t wait to be curled up in my own warm bed.

I help Santana get the house key into the lock and I push the heavy wooden door open and hold it so she can enter, before removing the key and handing it to her.

“Come in,” she says, reaching for my hand. I let her hold it, but make no movement to enter into the foyer. Crossing the threshold wouldn’t end well.

“San, I need to go home. Can you make it up to your bedroom by yourself?”

Her eyes immediately fill with tears again and I get a sudden flash of dread. She’s going to start bawling again and I don’t have time to escape before the explosion begins.

“C-can’t you stay?” she pleads, her voice thick with unshed tears.

I have no strength to deny her as much as I want to. Spending the night in Santana’s bed is guaranteed to bring back a flood of memories that I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with right now.

She doesn’t relinquish her grip on my hand but moves further into the foyer, shivering from the draft of the still open front door. Instinctively, I close it and realize that means I’m inside and that I’ve made the subconscious decision to stay the night. Santana looks slightly less miserable at this and she begins to walk shakily towards the stairs with me in tow.

We climb the stairs with me holding her waist to steady her. I can smell her perfume as she nuzzles into my side and I want to scream from the rush of emotions she’s putting me through.

Once inside her bedroom, I pull pajamas out of her bottom drawer for both of us and hand one set to Santana. She immediately pulls the dress over her head and I’m immediately taken back to when she did the same thing in the motel in Tennessee right before our first time together. 

I shift my gaze towards her posters on the wall hoping to clear the flood of vivid memories. I strip my own clothes and replace them with the pajamas in record time before looking back at Santana’s progress. She’s standing in the middle of her bedroom in only her panties, her bra and shoes having joined her dress in a sloppy heap next to her. She’s staring absentmindedly at her fingernails like she just forgot what she’s supposed to be doing. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her tanned skin in the moonlight that is streaming through the window and her dark hair ruffled from a night of fun. It’s the Santana I couldn’t help but admire for so long, wishing I could just reach out at touch her. The difference is now I can, but I’m not sure that I want to. 

I force myself to focus on the task of getting Santana dressed. I pull the pajamas out of her grasp and align the t-shirt so that I can easily slide it over her head. When I try to do so, she surges forward into me, making me stumble and miss putting her head through the opening.

“San, stay still,” I say firmly as I set up to try again. She’s too quick for me though, moving again, but this time crashing her lips against mine in a rough, sloppy kiss. Her tongue pushes against my lips determined to gain access to the depths of my mouth, but I keep mine firmly closed. I want to let her back in so badly, both figuratively and literally, but I know it’s not fair to myself to let this go on before we talk about all the problems with our quasi-relationship.

I grab hold of her shoulders and shove, causing her to step back with her eyes wide in shock. The shock quickly turns to anger and I can see her blood on the point of boiling. She’s drunk and irrational and I really don’t want to deal with this right now. Before she can speak, I pull the t-shirt over her head and force her arms into the sleeves.

“What the fuck, Q?” she asks, her tone mad and genuinely confused at the same time.

“I’m not hooking up with you, Santana. You’re absolutely wasted and we have a lot to deal with, so if you just invited me up here so you can get off, then I’m leaving.”

“I haven’t seen you in months and you don’t even want to spend the night? l thought I actually meant something to you,” she bites back and I can nearly feel the heat radiating off of her skin.

“You’ve always meant something to me. That’s why I’m so pissed that you can practically disappear from my life for three months and then think it’s okay to swoop in like nothing has changed! Because, guess what, Santana? A lot has changed with me! But you wouldn’t know because you can’t even be bothered to call when you say you will! You just expect I’ll sit around and wait for you forever! It’s not fair!” 

Scalding tears well up in my eyes and I wipe them on the back of my hand hastily, knowing that Santana really isn’t worth my tears in this moment. I know I deserve better than what I’ve been getting for her. But as her face crumples from my outburst, I want nothing more than to hold her and tell her that we’ll work through this somehow.

The sobs begin again, but this time I know it’s not just drunken Santana this time. My words stung through her tough exterior and hit a nerve. I hate that it took getting to this point to make her realize how upset I’ve been.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn. I know I shouldn’t have. And I shouldn’t have made a spectacle in the choir room but I was just so damn happy to see you and I didn’t care who knew it. My life is so fucked up right now and I’m letting it bleed into our situation.”

She’s sniffling and walks over to her desk to grab a tissue and wipe her nose. I watch her, seeing the defeat slumped into her shoulders in a way I never have before. She’s hurting just like I am.

“Can we please just go to sleep?” I ask, my body completely exhausted from the travelling and emotional whirlwind of the day.

Santana doesn’t answer but crawls into the bed, taking her normal spot on the right. I climb in beside her and I don’t shrug her off when she snuggles up against my back and holds me tightly against her. I need the warmth of another human being tonight just as much as she does. We can deal with everything else later.

I don’t fall asleep for hours as I mull over the last three months. Santana’s breathing evens out nearly the moment her head hit the pillow and her grip on me remains firm as I lay there, willing sleep to take over for the abundance of thoughts and emotions coursing through me. Memories from our August together invade my mind like they have so many nights previously. Being with Santana had been one of the best times in my life, no matter how short-lived my dream world had existed. Then the memories off all the nights I spent huddled under my comforter in my dorm bed at Yale crying over another cancelled video chat date or another ignored message started flying through my mind. Santana had broken me more times than I could count over the past few months. She was the only thing holding me back from my new, exciting life. Yet I knew she could be a part of it if only she’d try a little harder.

The sun is barely over the horizon when I stir. The alarm clock next to Santana’s bed tells me it’s just after seven in the morning. I slip out from under the covers making sure to leave a pillow in my spot for Santana to cuddle in my absence. I redress in my clothes from last night and run my fingers hastily through my knotty hair before heading for the door. I pause only for a second to appreciate the sight of Santana snuggled in a ball, breathing deeply and evenly in her sleep.

My entire household is already awake when I walk in from Santana’s and their eyes bore through me. My sister and mom stare at my wrinkled dress with contempt and I’m thankful when neither of them decides to comment on my appearance. I disappear up the stairs and try to drown myself in the shower.

By the time I reappear in the kitchen over an hour later, the house has begun to smell like Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey is roasting in the oven and my sister is wobbling around the kitchen as she works on making pies. Mom is thankfully still holding a coffee mug rather than having moved on to her wine glass.

“Where were you last night?” Mom asks me as I move to pour my own coffee, skirting around my sister’s huge stomach. 

“I stayed at Santana’s after the glee party,” I say casually. My phone buzzes from inside the pocket of my cardigan and I fish it out, focusing on the text rather than my mother’s questioning.

Why didn’t you wake me up before you left?

I feel my stomach twist in a pang of guilt at having forced Santana to wake up alone with no explanation. The better part of me knows that it was the best idea with how screwed up my emotions feel after the events of last night. I drop it back into my pocket without answering.

“Quinn, I’m speaking to you,” my mom says firmly. Apparently I had zoned her out for the last couple of minutes.

“What?” I ask, irritable that I have to spend the day locked in this house as it is.

“I asked why you didn’t call to tell me you’d be out? Since when is this appropriate behavior?” She was growing increasingly more annoyed with me.

“I figured the fact that I’ve spent the last 3 months living completely on my own without telling my mommy that I didn’t have to tell her that I’d be 2 minutes away at my best friend’s house for the night.” I knew my tone was bitchy and it was just asking to start a fight.

“Mom, Quinn isn’t a little girl anymore,” Frannie reminds her, obviously trying to diffuse the situation.

“Francesca, I’m speaking with your sister.”

“She’s right though, Mom.”

It was the wrong thing to say and I knew it. Mom’s face went red with obvious anger and frustration.

“Lucy Quinn, just because you’re eighteen and you attend a fancy college does not mean that you can stop following the rules of this household when you’re here.”

I give up, not feeling like starting an all-out war on Thanksgiving.

“Fine,” I respond curtly, picking up my mug and disappearing into the living room as quickly as possible.

Mark is sitting there watching the Macy’s Parade, though he immediately picks up the remote and flips back to the football game that he was obviously pretending to watch. It makes me giggle and I see the blush creep up his neck.

“Leave the parade on and tell them I bullied you into it,” I say, dropping onto the other end of the couch and taking a long sip from my coffee. 

Mark acquiesces faster than I expected him to, immediately flipping back. There’s some group performing in Herald Square and I watch absentmindedly while focusing on the little spat with my mom. I’ve been in Lima for less than twenty-four hours and I’m already counting down until I catch my flight back to Connecticut.

As if on cue, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket again. I try to ignore it, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

I’m sorry if I upset you yesterday. Can we please talk? I hate things being like this between us, Q.

I again resist the urge to answer, knowing that I need some space. I hold the power button down until the phone goes black. Feeling a little relief, I stuff it back into my pocket again. Mark eyes me curiously, but as soon as he realizes I’ve noticed, he springs his attention back to the television.

The rest of the day sucks just as much as the beginning has. My grandparents come over for dinner and I spend the entire meal trying to explain to my grandmother that I’ve been too busy with school to find a suitable man to marry. Mom doesn’t come to my defense at any point, choosing to practically drown herself in wine instead. My grandfather talks business with Mark for the most part, pretty much ignoring my existence. I don’t mind because it’s less that I have to defend why I’m wasting time and money on getting a good education when I know that everybody at the table thinks I should be on a mission to find a husband so that I can leave school.

I skip the pie my sister has baked, knowing it’s not worth the raised eyebrows from my mom and grandmother. Frannie eats two slices and they coo over her and how she’s feeding the baby growing inside her. All of it makes me want to gag.

By the time my grandparents are finally pulling out of the driveway, Mom is hammered and Frannie has morphed into a severely cranky pregnant lady. Mark tries to soothe her, which just causes him to get his head ripped off and he retreats from her bedroom with his tail between his legs.

I send mom to bed since she’s been more difficult than helpful as I try to clean up the kitchen. She stumbles up the stairs and I hear the door to her bedroom slam. I sigh before starting in on the dishes. Mark joins me, pulling Tupperware containers out of the cabinet and filling them with the leftovers. He stacks them neatly and puts them into the fridge before helping with the dishes.

We work in silence side-by-side and I feel comforted at his presence in this miserable house. I’ve spent pretty much zero alone time with Mark since he married Frannie two years ago but all of a sudden I feel like he’s the only person around that seems to understand me. By the time the kitchen is cleaned up, Mark says goodnight and I give him a warm response before heading up to my own bedroom.

It’s hardly after eight, but I really don’t have anything better to do. I jump up onto my childhood bed, eying the horrendous decorating. It hasn’t changed since I was about twelve and I feel a huge urge to be back in my dorm room at Yale. There, I have my posters and the pictures of my friends and everything that makes it feel like an actual home.

I turn my phone back on, figuring I might as well see the damage. There are four more similar text messages from Santana mixed with messages wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving. I send back messages to these people before returning my attention back to Santana’s messages.

The message I write is simple, telling her to meet me at a cafe just outside of town for lunch tomorrow. Her response is immediate and she agrees to be there. I smile despite myself. I want to be mad at Santana for how she’s been handling everything and for how incredibly selfish she’s acted. But I can’t deny how much I loved feeling her skin against me as I fell asleep last night or how much I missed the scent of her perfume.

I spend the rest of my night making a list of everything that has bothered me in my confusing relationship with Santana over the past few months. It’s such a Rachel Berry thing to do and I laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but it helps me get a better grasp of my emotions towards Santana at the moment. The bottom line seems clear though; despite all the crap she’s pulled I still freaking love her. I guess it’s not too different from the way we were in high school with our constant bickering and backstabbing. I had feelings for her all throughout that phase and I can see where it’s gotten me. My relationship with Santana is always going to be difficult because we are so damn similar.

Santana is already sitting at a little table near the front when I walk into the cafe just after twelve the next afternoon. She’s dressed like she’s ready for a night on the town with her hair and makeup done perfectly. I walk over, still hesitant at the situation despite having gone over my list about a million times while I couldn’t sleep last night. She sees me and springs up from her chair to pull out the one across from her. I thank her and take the seat, pulling off my jacket and draping it over the back. She scrambles back into her own seat, hands twisting nervously in front of her on the table.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” she asks, her voice shaky at best. I’ve never seen Santana like this.

“Fine. Yours?” I reply, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Santana looks taken aback at how quickly I’ve thrown my walls back up, but regains herself to answer the question.

“It was okay. I spent most of it worrying about us and thinking about you,” she admits. While I’m rebuilding my walls to keep her out, she’s destroying her own to let me in. Like in the hallway on Wednesday, she’s being vulnerable and open.

The waitress appears and I order an iced tea and a salad in lieu of responding to Santana. She orders too and the young girl disappears again, leaving us to our own devices.

“Look, I shouldn’t have acted that way in the choir room yesterday. I definitely shouldn’t have gotten drunk at Berry’s to the point that you needed to take care of me. And I really shouldn’t have taken advantage of the fact that you were being my perfect knight in shining armor.”

I’m pretty sure it’s the first real apology I’ve ever received from Santana in the four years I’ve known her.

“It’s not just about yesterday, Santana,” I respond, keeping my tone even. “You’ve basically blown me off every day for months. I’ve sat around waiting for you like an idiot. Then you have the nerve to make a grand statement in front of everybody and then telling me that you haven’t slept with anybody else like that means you deserve extra brownie points with me.”

Santana’s mouth drops open like she’s going to speak, but she ends up just closing it again.

“I knew before this all started how you were. I knew that you and Brittany broke up because you were going away. Yet I let myself get sucked in because I sat back for four years and watched everybody else get to have you and just hoping that one day you’d notice that I was there too. I finally got my chance on that freaking beach and now I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve been better off never taking the chance instead.”

“Quinn...” Santana started, but she just shakes her head and doesn’t continue. I sigh loudly. Exhaustion is taking over my body from the lack of sleep and from how much all of this crap has been weighing down on me for weeks.

“I don’t want empty promises, Santana. I knew you were making impossible ones from the beginning but I wanted to believe in them and I wanted to believe in you. But I don’t know how many more broken promises I can take. This is supposed to be my fresh start; I’ve escaped Lima and I’m at my dream school and everything is trying to fall into place. Yet my freaking heart is sitting with you in Kentucky and you’re not even taking care of it.”

I fight back the tears. I refuse to let myself cry over her again. I’m stronger than this.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn. I know that my words are practically meaningless at this point, but I’m sorry and I want to fix it. It’s why I’m here; it’s why I came back to Lima and it’s part of the reason why I’m leaving Louisville. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a minute since you drove away from my house in August.”

“How do we fix this?” I ask. I had given her the benefit of the doubt night after night. I really just didn’t know how much more I could take. The whole situation feels toxic, like poison running slowly through my veins.

“We get through the rest of the semester. I dropped a class and I already quit cheerleading to come home this weekend, so I’ll have a little extra time. Over winter break, we work on us for real. I know it’s not much longer than we had during the summer, but I know that we need to build a strong foundation. And in January, you go back to Yale and I move to New York and we visit as much as possible and talk in between and we keep our promises.”

Our food arrives, but I realize I’m really not hungry. Santana pushes her BLT and onion rings around her plate, not really eating either.

“It’s easy to say all of that, San. But the past three months have been nothing but empty promises. Sorry, but I don’t really have faith in things changing right now.”

“Just please let me try. Let me make it all up to you.”

My lips curl upwards slightly. I’ve always been blessed with an ability to have people bow at my feet. Santana is usually the only person in this town that challenges me for control, but right now she’s willingly putting the ball in my court and is obviously hoping that I hit it back to her.

“We can continue to talk about it,” I say nonchalantly.

I can tell she was hoping for more of an answer, but she doesn’t push me. We pick at our food for a few more minutes in silence before I get the check from the waitress. Santana immediately pulls out her wallet and throws money down on the table for both of us. I am about to argue about us splitting the check, but it’s just not worth it right now. I thank her and she rushes out of her seat to help me into my jacket. Again, I allow her. I know that the twisted part of me is enjoying the experience of seeing Santana acting like an obedient little puppy.

We walk out together and we reach my car first. She goes in for a hug, which is awkward and stiff and we pull away quickly. I hate the tension that has appeared between us, but I know it’s necessary if we’re going to actually work on this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I ask, allowing the warmth back into my voice a bit. She immediately perks up.

“Yeah, okay, definitely. Do you want me to call you or should I wait to hear from you or what?” She’s talking super fast and it’s obvious that I just caught her completely off-guard.

“I’ll text you in the morning. Bye, San.”

“Bye.”

I climb into my mom’s car and watch Santana walk across the parking lot to where her Jeep is parked. The top is on now due to the chilly weather and I get tingly thinking about driving around with the top off through the streets of Miami a few short months ago.

That night I decide that I’m not really feeling social so I pass up an invitation from Rachel to go see a movie with her and Kurt. I grab my laptop out of my backpack and start in on an English paper that’s due next week before my video chat ring starts going off.

“Hey, Joce,” I answer as the face of my roommate takes over the computer screen.

“Why the hell are you sitting home on your computer? I thought you were like the most popular person in your cow town.”

“I have homework to do. Yale doesn’t exactly hand out free A’s,” I reply, hoping she’ll just laugh and not push for details.

“Your face is telling me that you saw Santana and now you’re hiding out like a little bitch while she does whatever she wants.”

I sigh and look away from the camera. The last thing I want right now is to have Jocelyn tell me what I need to do about Santana.

“So what if I saw her? We’re working on things. We were friends for four years before all of this, I’m not just going to toss her out with yesterday’s garbage, Jocelyn.”

Jocelyn snorts before recovering.

“Because I’d let my friends fuck me and then hardly talk to me for months. Sounds like the perfect best friend to me.”

“You don’t know anything,” I say, using all my effort to keep my temper in check.

“You’re right. I just watched you cry into your pillow almost every night after getting stood up again. I watched you stare at her username willing it to come online without it ever doing so. So I know nothing about the situation, Quinn. Sorry, but Santana doesn’t appreciate you the way you deserve.”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” I say through gritted teeth.

Jocelyn realizes that she’s pushed me too far and immediately shuts up. We sit in awkward silence for a few long moments before she speaks again.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” she asks sheepishly.

“Pretty awful like anything involving my family,” I respond curtly, not offering any real information. “Yours?”

“It was okay. My little siblings are excited that I’m home and having basically attached themselves to my legs.”

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah and insanely annoying. Alright, well, I guess I’ll let you go. See you Sunday?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

“And Quinn, please just be careful.”

I shut the video chat window without a formal goodbye. I know that Jocelyn is trying to be a good, protective friend but it doesn’t make me any less annoyed right now. She doesn’t know Santana the way I do.

On Saturday morning, Puck texts me to tell me that he’s having a big reunion party tonight. I confirm that I’ll be there before sending Santana a message that she can see me tonight at the party. She responds immediately that she’ll be there and offers to pick me. I decline politely, not wanting to be relying on Santana for the entire night if I feel like leaving early.

I spend the day catching up on homework in my bedroom away from the prying eyes of my mom. It’s quiet and peaceful, but my mind is constantly somewhere else, mostly just a few blocks away at the Lopez house. Santana is obviously trying to do things on my terms, but I find myself wishing that she’d text me, even if it’s to say something completely stupid or to complain about her mom or anything. Instead, it’s an afternoon of silence in my bedroom.

As soon as the dinner plates are cleared, I take a long shower and then head into my closet. I only brought home a small selection of my wardrobe from Yale, but there’s still so much in the closet that I can’t figure out what to wear. Every outfit seems too much like my high school wardrobe, but I don’t know how Santana will feel about some of my new hipster clothes. In the end, I settle on a pair of dark skinny jeans and an off the shoulder band t-shirt. It reminds me of my skank days and I like the effect with smoky eye makeup and simple lip-gloss.

My mom raises an eyebrow at my outfit as I toss on a pair of black heels, making it just the slightest bit dressy. But like usual, she decides not to comment and instead just hands over the keys to her car with a little lecture about being responsible before I can slip out the door. I’m almost two hours behind when Puck told me to arrive, which means I’ll be plenty late to make a good entrance.

Puck’s front door is open and I enter without knocking, hearing the bass pounding from the family room in the back of the house. It isn’t overly crowded since it’s mostly only the people that Puck has stayed in touch with over the past couple of months. In reality, it’s the glee club with a handful of jocks thrown in. I stop into the kitchen where Puck is pouring shots and he kisses my cheek sloppily before sliding a shot glass into my hand. I don’t take it, but I carry it with me as I move further into the house.

I spot the back of her head with shiny dark hair falling elegantly over her shoulders as soon as I make it into the room. There’s a blonde attached to her side and they are laughing happily with their arms thrown around one another. It’s pretty much the last thing I wanted to see as I made my entrance: Santana tangled up on the couch with Brittany. It brings back a million high school memories of when they were inseparable, sneaking off down dark hallways to make out away from prying eyes. Santana looks genuinely happy and I really don’t want to interrupt what seems like an intimate moment between them.  
The shot doesn’t go down smoothly, but for some reason I welcome the burn. I wince as it continues to set my esophagus on fire, my eyes still trained on the back of Santana’s head. Puck appears next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pressing a red cup into my palm.

“Me and Santana worked pretty well back in high school. We’re both untamed beasts and we didn’t expect anything. You should try it, Baby Mama.”

I watch him walk over to Mercedes and Rachel with his typical swagger. His words feel like an acid cloud has descended around me. Santana was kind of all over the place for a lot of high school, but she changed for Brittany. She told me that she’s been practically celibate for months. I have no reason to not trust her, but my heart is in my stomach watching her cuddle up with Brittany.

I take a gulp of the drink Puck gave me, tasting some sort of alcohol mixed with fruit punch but I can’t really place what it is. It’s easier to take than the shot and I feel all of the alcohol going straight to my head. I wander over in the direction of Sam, who is talking to Artie in the far corner of the room. I have to move in front of the couch where Santana is to do so and I walk casually, not bothering to stop and say hello.

Sam greets me happily and starts talking a mile a minute again to Artie. I stand there, pretending to be interesting when I really couldn’t care any less about their Halo marathon. A few minutes pass of feigned interest before I can feel her eyes on my back. I don’t know how I know; it’s some sort of intrinsic connection that I can’t really explain, but I can feel her eyes taking in my outfit inch by inch.

It takes all of my effort to not give her my attention, but I’m determined to make her work for it even in the smallest of ways. I lean close into Sam as he does some ridiculous impression and laugh loudly when he finishes, resting my hand on his chest flirtatiously. Santana appears behind me within seconds, her perfume swirling all around me. I feel the heat of her body as she moves very close to me, just far enough to not be touching me. My body is reacting immediately and I have to refrain from reaching out to touch her.

“Nice to see you, Quinn,” she says cordially, sidling up to my side with a sly grin. She leans forward and closes the distance between us, allowing her lips to graze my cheek in a friendly welcome. “You look beautiful as always.”

I let myself turn my attention towards her appearance, dropping my façade with Sam. She’s wearing an impossibly tight green dress and teetering heels. Her makeup is simple but completely stunning and her hair is falling in loose curls. In all aspects, she looks absolutely stunning. I act indifferently and take a long sip from the fruit punch concoction in my cup.

Mercedes calls my name and I walk away without glancing at her again. I know she’s confused, but I just can’t fall back into the way we were in Miami. A few drinks later, I notice Brittany is glued to her side again. Brittany has her arm linked in Santana’s and I’m too drunk to tell if Santana is buying into it or not. I do everything in my power to not focus my attention on her, but it’s nearly impossible with her teasing outfit choice and her contagious laugh that I can hear from across the room.

By two in the morning, I’m completely smashed and resign myself to the fact that I’m going to be sleeping on Puck’s living room floor. Most of our friends are in various states of drunk to obliterated and have started passing out on every imaginable surface. I’m settling in on a couch pillow with a throw blanket in the far corner when I feel her presence hovering over me.

“C’mon,” she whispers, holding out a hand to help me up. I hesitate only for the slightest of seconds.

My hand is in hers and the warmth immediately surges through my body. She’s pulling me to my feet and I stumble drunkenly, falling into her arms. She catches me, giggling softly but holding me until I regain some of my balance.

“I scored a bed,” she says as she starts to lead me away from the living room and down a flight of stairs.

“With Brittany?” I slur, the words falling out of my mouth without weighing the consequences.

“Of course not,” she replies, obviously offended. “I don’t want to see you sleeping on that disgusting floor. You can have the bed.”

We’re standing in a little room off of the laundry room in Puck’s basement. It’s one I came to know well in the couple of months I lived here while pregnant with Beth. Santana helps me into the room and drops me gently onto the bed. She pulls off my heels and lets them drop to the floor with a thud before pushing me back onto the bed and pulling the covers over me.

“Where are ya goin?” I ask a little sadly as she starts to move away from the bed.

“I told you that you could have the bed. I’ll grab some carpet over here,” she says, pointing towards the corner.

“Share with me.”

She looks at me, surveying how much I really mean it but ultimately gives in. She drops her shoes next to mine and slips into the bed with her dress still on.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable in that tight dress?” I ask, rolling onto my side to face her.

“I’m fine, Q. You get some sleep; you’re gonna have a wicked hangover in the morning as it is.”

I can tell she’s caught off guard when I pounce forward and crash our lips together, but I don’t back away. She tries to pull back and I know she’s really trying to be the bigger person here, but right now I just don’t care. I’ve missed everything about her for three months and I can smell her perfume and feel the smooth skin of her arms. I want her and my drunken primal instincts are letting me push away all of the messy emotions that have accompanied my thoughts about Santana over the course of the semester.

“Quinn…” she murmurs, her hands pressed firmly against my shoulders to keep a little bit of distance between us.

“Just fucking kiss me, Lopez. I like your voice better when you’re moaning my name.”

Santana is stuck in an internal debate, but I continue to try and sway her with my mouth. I move down a little, kissing along her neck, biting at her collarbone, kissing the cleavage that is being pushed out of the top of her dress. It doesn’t take long, but I feel her body relax a fraction; it’s just enough that I know she’s giving into me.

It’s all the motivation I need. My hands are clawing at the zipper of her dress, my teeth are teasing a nipple through her strapless bra and I’m not going to stop until I get to feel her again. She helps me, shimmying out of the dress, undoing her bra, and then helping me out of my own clothes until we’re both down to our panties.

I pull her on top of me, immediately feeling comforted by her weight pressing down on me, anchoring me here in this moment with only her. It’s the position I’ve dreamed about almost every night as I laid in bed in my dorm room at Yale, hoping that one day Santana would finally realize how much I needed her.

Santana seems invigorated, her hesitancy having melted away. She’s grinding down onto my leg and kissing me like she’ll never have another chance in this lifetime. I push up into her, adding friction and moaning at my needs finally being on their way to being met. I run my fingernails down her back and she arches at the sensation, releasing a moan and moving her hips faster.

Her hands find my nipples and she rolls them between her fingers as she thrusts against me, getting me wetter by the second. I pull at the sides of her panties, wanting all barriers between us completely eliminated. I want to feel every centimeter of Santana against me with nothing getting in our way. Santana gets the hint and pushes up, peeling her underwear off and discarding them at the end of the bed. I take the opportunity to strip my own and I watch her face as she takes in my body against the faded comforter.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she mumbles quietly, her eyes avoiding mine as she says it. I smile at her newfound bashfulness, but right now I need her to be confident Santana.

I grab her face and pull it down to meet mine, kissing her bruisingly, biting at her lower lip aggressively. She squeaks in a mix of pain and pleasure and it only spurs me on. I’m thrusting up into her, desperate for any tiny spot of relief that I can manage. Santana seems to get the hint and slides her hand between our tangled legs and lets her slim fingers dance along my swollen lips, teasing sensitive flesh with practiced precision.

It’s embarrassing how quickly Santana can work me up. She’s got me in the palm of her hand, literally, and I’m helpless. My body is moving on its own accord as she slips through wet folds, massaging me gently and pushing me closer and closer to sweet release. I’m whimpering her name against her lips and I can feel her smile through her kisses.

Before I can really comprehend what’s going on, Santana rolls off of me and uses her surprising upper body strength to pull me on top of her. I’m straddling her hips and her hand is right there, skimming the insides of my thighs teasingly. She smirks at me, her bottom lip caught between perfect teeth. I’m desperate and Santana seems high on the power I’ve allotted her tonight. I move my hips forward until her two fingers are grazing my entrance. I look directly into dark chocolate eyes and I lower my hips, letting her fingers stretch me. 

As soon as I adjust to the very welcome intrusion I begin moving above her, controlling the pace and the motion and giving myself as much pleasure as possible. Santana is working with me, twisting her fingers a little bit on some thrusts, curling them into my g-spot on others. I’m left constantly on my toes trying to guess which way she’ll drive me crazy next and it causes me to speed up, pushing myself harder onto her fingers. She matches me stroke for stroke, keeping perfect rhythm like we’ve done this a million times together.

My head falls back as her name escapes my throat in the throes of my orgasm. It’s intense and I feel ripped open, like the last three months have completely dissipated in order to give us this moment. When I open my eyes again, Santana is looking directly at me with an unreadable expression. I’m exhausted and a little dizzy from all the movement while being so drunk, but all I can think about is making Santana scream my name.

I lift my hips, allowing her to remove her now soaked fingers. I grab her wrist and push her hand towards her mouth. She gets the hint immediately and I see the fire ignite in her pupils as I continue to guide her. Her lips wrap around her own fingers and she opens her mouth a little so that I can see her tongue swirling around each digit, effectively cleaning them. I moan and feel another surge of wetness at the sight. 

I lean down and kiss her, tasting myself on her tongue and I realize that I can’t wait another second. I slide my body off to the side of her and lean down in to kiss her abdomen. There’s a slick trail of my own wetness on her pelvis and I swirl my tongue through it, tasting the mixture of my own juices with Santana’s salty sweat and a flavor that is distinctly her. She whimpers as I hit sensitive spots and her hips are moving slightly, urging me on. I continue to kiss down until I’m leaning over her thigh and my mouth is positioned over soaked lips.

She pushes her hips up into me, causing my mouth to make a sloppy connection with swollen flesh and I let my tongue run the length of her slit, tasting her slowly. She groans gutturally and I feel a rush of pleasure run through my limbs at being able to make her sound like that.

I can’t wait any longer and I attack her sex with fervor, worshipping every inch of it. I feel her fingernails scratching lightly along my back as I swirl my tongue around her clit. I reach forward with my hand and press against her, filling her easily with two fingers. She groans again and I build a rhythm, reacquainting myself with the little nuances that were specific to Santana.

Santana catches me off guard when she yanks my thigh and pulls me back on top of her, though this time I’m straddling her shoulders. She maneuvers below me, pulling me up until my knees are sitting on either side of her head. I anticipate her next move, but try to keep my even rhythm of my tongue swirling around her clit while my fingers slide in and out of her.

I moan deeply against her sex when I finally feel her tongue against my slit. She doesn’t ease in; instead she works me up fast until we’re moving at similar rhythms. Her hands are gripping my thighs tightly, holding me steady as her tongue works hard against my clit. I can feel the vibrations of her moans against my sex as I continue to push her towards her climax. We’re moving as a unit and I’m having trouble focusing on pleasuring her as she pushes my own pleasure to new levels of amazing. I do my best and it obviously is working because shortly after I can feel her inner walls beginning to clench against my fingers. I try hard to focus on pushing her just that little bit farther until her body is shaking uncontrollably below me. She’s moaning my name against my soaked flesh, but somehow she keeps her mouth against me, hardly missing a beat as she rides out her waves of pleasure. When she comes down, I pull my fingers out and lick them clean before resting my cheek on her thigh and focusing on my own pleasure. It’s hardly minutes later that I’m screaming out in a very intense orgasm. Santana’s fingernails dig into my inner thighs, leaving small crescent-shaped bruises in their wake.

I force myself to roll off of her and flip around so that my head is next to hers despite the fact that my body feels like jelly. Her arms are open and waiting and I collapse into them contently. She yanks the comforter up over us and I’m asleep within seconds.

The hammering in my temples wakes me up in the morning. The room is dim in the early morning light and I shiver at my bare skin sticking out of the blanket. In fact, I kind of feel freezing all over. But that’s probably due to the fact that I’m completely naked and I’m lying in the corner of the bed. Santana is sprawled across her side of the bed on her stomach and I take in the delicate lines of her back muscles as she sleeps. Everything about her is beautiful in the gentle light, but the knot is growing quickly in my stomach. We aren’t on steady ground. We don’t even really have shared ground right now. The last thing we should have done is sleep together.

I climb carefully out of the bed and gather my discarded clothing, pulling it on hastily and wincing at the incessant throbbing that is going on in my head. Santana doesn’t stir even the slightest bit and I’m grateful for it. I pull a piece of paper out of the printer in the corner and write Santana a hasty note. I drop it on my pillow and brush my lips against her hair before heading out of the room. It’ll be at least another month before I see her again.

~!~!~!~

The hammering in my temples wakes me up in the morning. The room is dim in the early morning light and I shiver at my bare skin sticking out of the blanket. In fact, I kind of feel freezing all over. But that’s probably due to the fact that I’m completely naked and I’m laying in the corner of the bed. Santana is sprawled across her side of the bed on her stomach and I take in the delicate lines of her back muscles as she sleeps. Everything about her is beautiful in the gentle light, but the knot is growing quickly in my stomach. We aren’t on steady ground. We don’t even really have shared ground right now. The last thing we should have done is sleep together.

I climb carefully out of the bed and gather my discarded clothing, pulling it on hastily and wincing at the incessant throbbing that is going on in my head. Santana doesn’t stir even the slightest bit and I’m grateful for it. I pull a piece of paper out of the printer in the corner and write Santana a hasty note. I drop it on my pillow and brush my lips against her hair before heading out of the room. It’ll be at least another month before I see her again.

Santana wakes up a few hours later to an empty bed and a crumpled note tucked in beside her. Her eyes are dry and irritated from sleeping with her contacts in and she rubs at them, forcing the sleep out.

She grabs the note, and squints at it trying to make sense of the messy cursive through her hungover fog.

San,  
I’m sorry to leave you to wake up alone, but I need to clear my head and I have an early flight back to New Haven. I know you tried to be the perfect lady last night and I took that from you and it was completely unfair and irrational of me. I love you more than I’m even willing to admit, but I’m not ready to be back on this step with you. I need my best friend back even more than a girlfriend that comes with amazing sex. All of that should come after having the person I love to confide in back. I know you can be the one for me, but we need to get back to that place of trust and unquestionable feelings of love in order to take that leap. I want you to be the one to catch me. It’s always been you.

You’ll probably still be sleeping by the time I’m up in the air, so I guess this note also serves as my goodbye until winter break. (I did give you a kiss goodbye too, but you slept right through it) You deserve more than a few random words on a page to explain why I’m not here while you’re waking up. Text me and let me know your schedule; hopefully we can set up a video chat tonight or tomorrow. I miss you already.

Quinn


	3. From Lust to Truth

I know it’s not Quinn’s fault. I know it’s not, but I can’t help but want to blame her. It’s my first paid singing gig and I need her to be sitting in the front row to keep me from freaking out. But instead she’ll be holed up in a library at Yale studying for her midterms. It’s not her fault that her classes are insanely hard (well, part of it is because sometimes she’s such a freaking overachiever that wouldn’t be happy without a challenge) and that midterms just happen to fall right after my gig. But none of it makes me feel any better. I need her to be here.

Quinn never blows off plans. She never misses her time to call me and I know she makes sure to find time despite both of our busy schedules almost every day. She does everything in her power to keep us in constant contact. I’ve gotten better too; I call when I’m supposed to even if I’m exhausted from working at the department store and singing at open mics and staying up to get my work done for the two business classes I’m taking at the local city college. But having Quinn cancel on me the day before she’s supposed to get here hurts more than I thought it would. I guess this is what she felt like pretty much every night last semester.

The thought makes guilt pound through my veins. I made her feel like this all the time. It’s no wonder that her best friend at college fucking hates me with all of her being. To be fair, I don’t really like Jocelyn either. Part of me has a sneaking suspicion that she wishes she could claim Quinn as her own.

Thinking about Jocelyn just makes my anger level rise. She’s probably sitting across from Quinn being her normal bitchy self and eye sexing my girlfriend. I call Quinn my girlfriend in my head even though we haven’t had that discussion yet. We’re still rebuilding and I’m trying to do things on her terms. She needs me to prove that I’m really worthy of her time and love. But at least I know she’s more of my girlfriend than she is Jocelyn’s. Jocelyn doesn’t share a bed with her on alternating weekends or get to hold her hand in dark movie theaters. She definitely doesn’t get to kiss her goodnight. That brightens my mood a little bit.

I send her a picture of me in the outfit I’ve picked out and she responds quickly with a picture message of her own. It’s of her textbooks scattered over the surface of a table in the library. In the middle, her notebook is open. Across the page she’s written, “Break a leg. Wish I could be there.” My heart melts at how adorable she is. I know she wants to be here rather than cooped up in the library but she can’t help it.

I arrive early and warm up backstage. It’s a short set; I’m only singing five songs. But the owner told me that if the crowd likes me it could open up more time for me in the future. I’m nervous and I wring the empty water bottle in my hands as I wait for my introduction. Finally, I hear the owner say my name and I walk through the curtain on the side and out onto the stage. It’s a small club that has live music every night. It’s almost eleven and most of the crowd is obviously hammered judging by their raucous laughter and glassy eyes. I see Kurt and Rachel sitting at a table near the front with a couple of my friends from my intro to business class and my nerves calm a little bit. I still wish Quinn could be here.

My set goes surprisingly well; the crowd seems into it and my voice feels stronger than usual. It’s probably the adrenaline rush from being on stage by myself and knowing that there’s a paycheck in it this time. Kurt whistles loudly as I thank the crowd for sticking with me and Rachel is bouncing in her seat with excitement. I replace the microphone on its stand and head off behind the curtain again. My throat is scratchy and I chug a bottle of water as I pace the backroom. The manager hands me an envelope with my pay for the evening and I thank him graciously. He tells me he’ll call me later in the week if he has room in the schedule for me again. I head giddily out into the club to see my friends with a pocket full of cash and a huge smile.

They’re all so excited and rave to me about my set. I’m flying on the high of performing, but I accept the rum and coke that the waitress drops off to me anyway. We rehash my performance through most of the next act while the alcohol keeps flowing steadily. My buzz is growing as the adrenaline wears down and I feel the switch turn from insanely happy to miserable. Quinn should be here. I like my new friends and I’ve learned to love Rachel and Kurt, but it’s not who I care about being here tonight.

I chug the rest of my drink and stumble away from my friends, heading for the back door to get some fresh air. It’s warm for a March night. I slide down against the brick wall of the club in the alley. A couple of the dishwashers are smoking cigarettes at the far end by the kitchen and the stale air of the trash in the dumpster overwhelms my senses. Tears sting my eyes and even though I know I’m being overly sensitive, I can’t help how much it hurts right now.

With a little effort, I extract my phone from the pocket of my skintight jeans. I had picked the outfit with Quinn in mind. As much as I know she appreciates my wide array of tight, skimpy dresses, her eyes are always glued to my ass when I wear jeans. But she’s not here to appreciate it.

I hold the phone against my ear, the tears now rolling down my cheeks. I swat at them with my free hand, angry and upset with myself for being so upset over the smallest things. Quinn’s voice is raspy and she sounds exhausted when she picks up on the other end of the line.

“I’m wearing jeans for you!” I sob immediately, skipping greetings altogether.

“Santana, are you crying?” she asks quietly. She’s practically whispering into my ear and I’m angry that I can’t feel her warm breath against it as she speaks. God, why isn’t she here?

“I needed you here. You’re beautiful and supportive. Instead you left me with freaking Berry who is giving backhanded compliments and is wasted off of one mixed drink and she keeps sticking her nose into my business. It’s your weekend to visit and you’re supposed to be here to keep me from killing her, Quinn!”

Quinn sighs loudly and I hear the rustling of papers in the background.

“I’m still at the library, Santana. It’s not like I’m blowing you off because I found something more entertaining to do this weekend. You’re being completely unreasonable. And I don’t care that you’re drunk and weepy because I have more important things to worry about than your ego while you have time to go out with your friends and get hammered.”

I start crying harder at the coldness of her voice. This conversation was supposed to soothe my hurt feelings, but instead I just feel a million times worse.

“I need to get back to work, San.” Her voice is stern, but is a little softer. I’ll talk to you later.”

I say a quick, tear-choked goodbye before ending the call. Well, this night sucks.

All week my focus is on my guilt about how I disregarded Quinn’s need to study. In my deepest understanding, I really do know that she wouldn’t have skipped my gig for any other reason. But it’s been five days and I’ve hardly spoken to her. She’s been taking her exams and studying every free minute around them and I’m trying so hard to not bother her. But I want her to have time so I can actually apologize the way she deserves. I think about sending flowers, but they’re freaking expensive and they die so quickly. A care package would be perfect, but I wander up and down the aisles of stores trying to figure out what to put in it and come up empty handed. I know I’m pathetic at this, but I want her to know that I’m sorry for being a jackass.

I have an afternoon class on Thursday so I don’t get home until dinnertime. It’s been a horrible day and all I can think about is getting into my sweatpants and eating leftover Chinese food while watching an epic marathon of the The Real Housewives of New Jersey. I come around the corner from the staircase (because the freaking elevator is broken yet again) and I’m absorbed in checking my phone for the millionth time to see if Quinn has messaged me. Nothing.

I literally walk right into a body in the hallway. I’m about a millisecond from going all Lima Heights Adjacent on the person, but I glance up to see a mop of messy blonde hair and shining hazel eyes looking down at me.

“Quinn...” I breathe, completely surprised at seeing her standing in the dingy hallway in front of my apartment.

“Sorry, I should have told you that I was coming. Do you have plans this weekend? I should’ve thought to ask before just jumping on the first train leaving New Haven after my midterms.”

I pull myself back out of my gaze, realizing that she thinks I’m upset that she’s shown up on my doorstep.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say softly, smiling genuinely. This is so much better than me sending a stupid, useless care package.

I move past her to unlock the door. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and picks up her backpack that is sitting on the floor before following me into the apartment. As soon as we cross the threshold I start gliding around trying to clean up some of the mess. My roommate, a girl named Piper that had posted about having a free bedroom that I took her up on, is nowhere to be seen.

Quinn grasps my arm, stopping me as I start clearing the piles of magazines from the coffee table. She forces me to look at her and I instantly calm down from the warmth radiating where she’s holding my arm. I notice that in the other hand she has a beautiful bouquet of lilies and a plastic bag with takeout from our favorite Chinese place a couple of blocks away.

She holds out the flowers and blushes at me bashfully. We’re not good at apologizing and I take this as her peace offering for not being here last weekend.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, taking the flowers from her. I regretfully leave her grip to find a vase to put them in.

The flowers are a perfect centerpiece on our tiny kitchen table, but Quinn and I sit on the couch as we eat instead. She looks like she’s lost weight since I saw her three weeks ago. Knowing Quinn, she’s been forgetting to eat while she’s been studying and she always works out like crazy when she’s stressed.

My reality television marathon gets forgotten as I let myself be absorbed by Quinn. We move on like we weren’t both upset less than a week ago. For us, it just works better this way. I bite my tongue a few times from bringing the issue up and apologizing for my behavior. I know it’s probably just better off left alone.

~!~!~!~

The last thing I want to do on my Memorial Day weekend is return to Ohio for Mr. Schue’s wedding. New York has become my real home and I know that heading back there is just going to bring up everything that I’d rather forget. I haven’t been home since my semester started in January and I know it’s probably time to pay my parents a visit and Rachel already RSVP’d for her, Kurt, and I, so I’m kind of obliged at this point.

Quinn comes to New York as soon as her finals are finished. The four of us are going to drive together back to Ohio with Quinn staying there for a few weeks after the wedding. We spent the week between the semester ending and leaving for Ohio going to all the museums that Quinn had been bugging me to go with her to. I wander through room after room of art and exhibits. Some of it is pretty cool, but most of it seems boring as hell. Quinn is in her glory though and I find myself watching her flit from one painting to the next instead of looking at the art itself. She’s a walking, talking piece of fine art and I can’t help but admire the adorable way her short hair falls into her eyes or how her cheeks are starting to freckle from afternoons spent in Central Park reading on a blanket.

On Wednesday, the day before we’re supposed to head back to Lima, we head to the park to enjoy the beautiful spring day. She holds my hand as we walk along the path and I beam at the feel of her fingers linked through mine while nobody even gives us a second glance. She has a pair of aviators covering her eyes as she lies with her head in my lap. We’re in our favorite spot; it’s quieter and grassy and I already think about how much I’m going to miss these afternoons when Quinn isn’t in New York with me anymore.

“Hey, Q?” I ask timidly. Her head turns so she’s facing me. I stop moving my fingers through her silky hair as I try to wrap my head around my current thoughts. “Can we go to this stupid wedding together?”

Quinn reaches up and pulls her sunglasses off, blinking in the bright sunlight.

“What is it that you’re trying to say, Santana?” she hesitates. I swallow hard and will myself to say what I want to say.

“I want you to be my date to Mr. Schue’s wedding this weekend,” I say quickly before I can change my mind. Quinn’s face changes slightly and I see the brief flash of panic.

I don’t take back my statement, but I pull my eyes away from hers, not wanting to be looking directly into them when she rejects me.

“You want me to just be your date for this event and that’s it?” Quinn asks, clarifying what I’m asking. 

No, it’s not what I want. I want us to talk about what we really are because it’s been a year since I’ve hooked up with anybody else and this lack of definition with Quinn is starting to wear on me. I glance back at her face and I can see the patience there waiting for me to say what I really want.

“Isn’t this kind of ridiculous, Q? We’ve been dating for months. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I want you to be my date. I want you to be my date for every event in my life.”

“Is Santana Lopez actually asking me to define our relationship as something meaningful?” Quinn teases and I feel my cheeks get warm with embarrassment.

“Are you saying you don’t want to?” I say, the bitchy side of me creeping into my tone to help protect the hurt.

“No, I’m just waiting for you to grow a pair and actually ask the question that you want to be asking me.”

It drives me absolutely insane sometimes that Quinn knows me so damn well. She kicks my walls down like they are made of marshmallows and turns me into this ridiculously smitten human being that I’ve become since the first time she kissed me in Miami.

“Quinn Fabray, will you stop fucking with my head and just agree to be my damn girlfriend?” I respond through gritted teeth. Quinn’s face breaks into a wide smile.

“Gosh, you’re so flattering and romantic. How could any person refuse after a proclamation like that?” Quinn teases, lifting her head from my lap. She pushes my shoulders until I’m lying back on the blanket and she straddles my waist, her hair falling in a golden curtain around her face as she grins down at me. “Of course I’ll be your girlfriend, you idiot.”

~!~!~!~

Lima is exactly as lame as I remember. My parents seem pleased to have me home and my father is happy to hear that I aced both of the classes I took this semester, which is a relief after how much he adamantly opposed me dropping out of Louisville in order to follow my dreams to New York. The wedding isn’t until Saturday, but I spend Friday seeing all of our old friends that are in town for the wedding. I’ve hardly kept in touch with anybody outside of Rachel, Kurt, Quinn, and Brittany since I left for school, but it’s still great to be surrounded by familiar faces again. We have a huge reunion dinner at Breadstix and follow it up with a party at Puck’s house. It feels weird to see how the dynamic has shifted in our little group of misfits. Quinn and I branch out and talk to people, but I continue to catch her eye across the room. My heart jumps every time knowing that she’s all mine.

We get ready for Mr. Schue’s wedding together the next afternoon in my old bedroom. My mom hasn’t changed a single thing since I left and it’s sort of comforting. Quinn seems at home, wandering between my room and the bathroom as she gets ready. We move seamlessly around one another, sharing the mirror and automatically shifting so that we can pass by as needed. I’ve learned the little nuances about Quinn, like how clips her bangs back while she puts on her eye makeup and how she squints to try to see if they look evenly done. I find it all adorable and incredibly distracting as I’m trying to curl my own hair into submission.

Quinn notices and she gently takes the curling iron out of my grasp before expertly twirling my hair around it, holding it there and then releasing it, allowing a perfect curl to bounce off of my shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror and hers seem to be twinkling with happiness. She continues to work on my hair, her fingers making my scalp tingle. Quinn hums under her breath in concentration as she surveys the areas that still need some help; I spend the whole time watching her completely mesmerized. 

I hardly notice that she has put the curling iron down because I’m too busy staring at her strong jaw line and the huge expanse of porcelain skin exposed on her neck and collarbones. Her dress for the wedding is simple and elegant, just like she is, with a scoop neck. The mint green color brings out the brightest hues of her eyes and they lock on mine through our reflections in the mirror.

“You look beautiful, San,” she breathes, bending down until the hot heat of her breath is tickling my ear. I feel her lips graze the edge of my cartilage and I shiver involuntarily. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get going,” she adds, straightening back up and moving away from me.

I sigh and let myself sit for a moment longer, composing myself. Standing, I smooth the material of my own dress: a much tighter and sexier one than Quinn’s in a pale blue. It’s not my normal color by any means, but Quinn loved it and I can’t resist caving to her choices when I know that at least she’ll be appreciating me in it.

The church is one that I’ve passed pretty much every day but it’s one I’ve never been in. It’s a Presbyterian one and my family favored the Catholic church on the other side of town. It’s simple on the outside and just as simple on the inside with understated accents. The flowers are perfectly arranged; probably by Miss Pillsbury herself since she’s the only one who can make flower arrangements seem clean and tidy. The place is pretty full already and we slide into the end of a pew next to Tina and Sugar on Mr. Schue’s side. I see the blonde head of Brittany a few pews ahead of us wedged between Artie and Sam. Her giggles reach my ears and I smile at how happy she seems to be. Quinn reaches over and squeezes my hand and I’m immediately reminded of my own happiness.

The ceremony itself is dull and I have to resist the urge to play some Temple Run on my phone. Finally Mr. Schue gets to kiss his bride and we leave the stuffy church behind, heading instead to the reception hall. Quinn gushes about how sweet they looked and about the little details of the wedding as we drive over. I roll my eyes playfully as she yammers on and I remember that Quinn’s head is often lost in the clouds, entwined in another novel. She believes in epic romance and huge unforgettable gestures and these things actually matter to her. It doesn’t matter that Mr. Schue isn’t really in our lives anymore; it’s the story of fate and love that draws her into the occasion.

When I pull into the parking lot, she has moved the discussion to comparing their flowers to the ones at her sister’s wedding a few years back and I can’t find it in me to really care about any flowers. Thankfully, our friends are all piling out of cars around us and Quinn and Rachel immediately start gushing about love and weddings to one another. I wander over to the guys, who are discreetly passing a flask between them. Without asking, I yank it from Sam’s hand and take a swig. It’s a little warm, but the Crown Royal goes down smoothly. I notice Brittany standing across from me and I hold out the flask. She accepts with a smile, taking a sip of her own before passing it to Puck’s little brother, Jake.

By the time the music starts pumping, we’ve all managed to build decent buzzes from hidden flasks. Quinn is deep in conversation with one of the new girls in glee and Tina, so I tap her leg and inform her that I’m going to dance. It’s been forever since I’ve been on a dance floor and even longer since I’ve felt the tight abs of a particular blonde pushing against my back. I toss a glance over my shoulder to see a glassy-eyed Brittany pressed against me. 

“Having fun?” she mumbles against my ear as she moves with perfect rhythm. I try to keep up with her swinging hips, my head fuzzy from the liquor.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, leaning back so she can hear me over the music. We keep moving and I take a peek over at the table I had just vacated. Quinn is still sitting with that Marley girl but her eyes are locked on me and her jaw is clenched. My stomach churns a little bit under her intense glare, but I pull Britt a little bit so that I’m no longer directly facing Quinn.

We dance for a while longer, talking and catching up the whole time. We’ve only exchanged a handful of emails and text messages over the past couple of months so it’s nice to have the time to catch up with the girl that had been my best friend and first love. The line is drawn and Brittany is rambling about this girl she met that she has a date with next week and how excited she is about graduating and how she’s heading to L.A. to stay with Puck and audition for dancing gigs. Her hands are on my body, but they’re respectful and I don’t feel the sparks I once did when she touched me.

Quinn isn’t sitting at the table anymore when Brittany and I split up and head in opposite directions. I grab a glass of water from the table and chug it as I look around for her. She’s nowhere to be seen around the dance floor. I check the bathroom, but she’s missing from there too. The doors open onto a deck off the other side of the dance floor so I walk that way. Quinn is resting against the railing of the deck holding her own glass of water and looking unsettled.

“Hey,” I say lamely, leaning to rest on the railing next to her.

“Oh, have you remembered who you brought as your date to this function?” she responds sarcastically and taking a sip of her water, her eyes looking out over the dark landscape.

“I’m just having fun, Quinn. Britt is just a friend and has been for a really long time.” She doesn’t seem convinced. “We were just catching up. She’s graduating in a few weeks and she just started dating someone new this week,” I add to help my pathetic case against Quinn’s jealousy issues.

Quinn finally turns her head to look at me. She stares directly in my eyes like she’s trying to catch me in a lie, but after a tense moment, her face softens a little bit. I bite my lip because the last thing I want to do is start a fight at Mr. Schue’s wedding two days after Quinn agreed to be my girlfriend by calling her out before being crazy and jealous right now.

A slow song starts playing from inside and I hold out a hand to her in a silent gesture of moving beyond this little issue. She rolls her eyes but cracks a smile and takes my hand. I lead her back inside and pull her into me, dancing slowly with my arms wrapped possessively around her neck. Her hands are hesitant as she tries to figure out the logistics of dancing with a girl but they settle lightly on my waist as we rock to the slow, romantic song. I whisper sweet nothings against her ear as we move together. I can feel the blush creep up her cheek and against mine and it makes me smile to know that I can affect her so easily.

As the song comes to a close, I shift my hands and I dip her, cradling her back when she squeals in surprise. I feel eyes turn to look at us at her little outburst, but I focus on my lips meeting hers. It takes a moment, but then she’s kissing me back and I can feel the weight of her emotions in every swipe of her tongue. My arms struggle to hold her so I pull her back up and watch her wobble in her heels. The dazed look on her face makes me smirk with pride at my own romance skills.

“You ready to get out of here?” I whisper suggestively against her earlobe, my hand hooked around her waist as I keep her close. She hardly takes the time to nod her approval before she’s heading to our table to collect our purses and wedding favors. We say rushed goodbyes to our friends and wish the newlyweds a happy life before we’re tearing out of the parking lot and heading for my house.

I wait until the last possible minute before we’re asleep to mention to Quinn that my mom wants her to join us for dinner tomorrow night. Quinn lifts her sleepy head in alarm and I see the panic wash over her. She pulls the sheet tightly around her like she is suddenly conscious of the fact that she’s naked under my parents’ roof.

“Quinn, it’s just dinner. You’ve met my parents a million times before,” I mumble against my pillow, tugging on her to lay back down next to me.

“I’ve never had dinner with a significant other’s parents,” she squeaks in worry. “I didn’t bring home a selection of outfits or anything.”

“You’re in my bed completely naked with my parents down the hall and you’re worried about what you’re going to wear for a normal Lopez dinner?”

“And you’re really not helping, Santana,” Quinn practically growls at me. I giggle, which just makes her more angry.

“Sweetie, it’s just my parents and brother. You’ve done it a million times and my parents already love you. They just want a chance to spend some time with us together. Please, just do this for me?” I ask, giving her my best pout.

“What if they tell my mom? I’m not ready to deal with all of that. I can’t believe you outed our relationship to your parents already!”

“They won’t say anything, Q. Take a big chill pill and come cuddle with me.” This time I don’t let her protest as I pull her back into me. The sheet is tangled between us with how tightly it’s wrapped around her, but I slowly ease her out of it until I can feel her bare skin on mine again. I fall asleep with her warm body pressed against mine.

Quinn is already showered and dressed when I finally wake up the next morning. She slides up to the side of the bed and leans down to let her lips press gently against my forehead.

“I have some things I need to get done. What time is your mom expecting me for dinner?” she asks, her eyes darting around nervously.

“Around six, I guess. Can I make you some breakfast before you go?” I ask, sitting up and stretching my limbs.

“I’d rather just get going. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” I nod and she leans over to give me a kiss before she’s out the door.

My day creeps by slowly. I play a few rounds of Halo with my little brother before my mom finally gets sick of our bickering and makes me come help her in the kitchen instead. She moves around effortlessly, adding ingredients without ever measuring them out. I get put in charge of chopping various things because she knows I’m useless at the actual cooking part, but it’s nice to get to spend some time with her. She asks me about my classes and work and I tell her that I’ve been performing sporadically. She seems happy for me but I see the little glint of worry that she’s afraid my dreams won’t work out. But I’m still majoring in business and I’ll have something to fall back on if singing doesn’t work out for me.

The doorbell rings at ten minutes to six and I jump up from my spot at the bar to answer it. Quinn is standing there with a huge bouquet of spring flowers and a Tupperware container of cookies.

She’s wearing a dress I’ve never seen before, which means she found time to go shopping for the occasion and her hair is freshly dyed and cut. I smile at seeing her and I usher her into the foyer, offering to take the flowers and cookies. She leans forward and kisses me chastely before informing me that the flowers are for my mom and not me. I pretend to pout and she releases a short laugh before kissing me quickly again and moving towards the kitchen to greet my mom.

My mom immediately hugs her and exclaims over how thoughtful it was for her to bring flowers and dessert. Quinn beams at her and chats happily with her as I’m sent to find a vase for the bouquet. Dinner is still twenty minutes away from being ready but Quinn is happy to sit in the kitchen and talk with my mom, offering her help and being the perfect guest.

My brother begrudgingly leaves his Xbox to join us for dinner and my father walks in the door from work just as we’re sitting down to eat. He greets Quinn amicably before taking his seat across from my mom.

“How are things at Yale?” my dad asks Quinn, digging into his rice and beans hungrily.

“It’s great, sir. I love my classes and I’ve declared a double major in English and Communications.”

“And your grades are good I presume.”

“Dad...” I start, embarrassed that he’s questioning Quinn like this.

“They are impeccable, sir. I’m on track to graduate summa cum laude as long as Santana doesn’t distract me too much,” she responds with a playful wink in my direction. 

“Santana, you better not be getting in the way of her academic achievements,” he says in my direction. I roll my eyes while Quinn giggles.

“Quinn is an excellent catch, Santana. Your father is right, you better not screw this one up,” my mother adds. “She is much better than the people you’ve chosen to date in the past.”

I see Quinn blush and she seems pleased by my mother’s proclamation about my relationship choices. I’m annoyed that my parents are even bothering to compare and judge whom I’ve dated, but it’s nice to see Quinn fitting in so well with my parents. She even manages to have a two-sentence conversation with my little brat of a brother before he gets excused to continue his gaming.

Quinn springs up to help my mom clear the table and I join them. They chat the entire time and I marvel at how easily Quinn has fit into my family. Brittany has that magic with everybody and she was practically another daughter at my house for years. But Quinn fits differently and it works well. It’s like my parents actually see the future of my life in the form of the smart and incredibly beautiful girl standing in the kitchen washing dishes with my mom.

As soon as the dessert dishes are cleared, my parents finally get the hint that I’d like some time to spend with my girlfriend alone. They bid us both goodnight and I immediately drag Quinn to my bedroom. The door is barely closed behind us before I’m pressing her up against it.

“San, your parents are here,” she gasps as my mouth attaches to her neck. I mumble incoherently against her pulse point. “We are so not doing this after I just started to be accepted into your family as your serious girlfriend.”

“I’m pretty sure they knew I screwed my not-as-serious ex-lovers so it’s kind of expected that I’ll screw you.”

“We are not doing this right now, Santana,” she says, meekly trying to push me away.

“I’m going back to New York tomorrow and you’re going to deny me the chance to have a medley of orgasms before I don’t see you for a month?” I ask incredulously, pulling my face away from her so I can look at her.

“Your parents are here and they like me and I’d really like to not make things awkward when they hear their little angel moaning because someone can’t control themselves,” she spits back.

“God, I thought you grew out of this prudeness,” I joke in frustration, but back away from her nonetheless. It’s not an argument I’m going to win tonight. In the end, it’s not the worst arrangement because I still get Quinn curled up in my arms for the rest of the night.

~!~!~!~

I want everything to be perfect. It hasn’t been a perfect year, but Quinn deserves a special night. We’ve only been officially dating for just over two months, but to me our anniversary will always be that first night in Miami when Quinn let herself break loose and really live for once. If she had never done that, then we’d never be here.

Quinn arrives in New York really late the night before my planned anniversary date extravaganza. We immediately get into bed and it’s so nice to get to hold her again. It’s been another long month of living through video chats and phone calls and having her snoring with her face against my neck is the best thing I’ve felt in weeks.

My alarm goes off at eight and Quinn grumbles in her sleep. I hit the button quickly and slide carefully out of the bed. She rolls over and snuggles into my pillow. I watch her for a minute, loving the peacefulness on her face as she re-settles on my pillow.

I walk into the kitchen and immediately start in on making breakfast. I definitely haven’t inherited my mom’s natural ability to make masterpieces appear, but I have developed some basic skills living on my own. The bacon is sizzling in the pan when Quinn emerges from the bedroom. She’s wearing one of my Louisville cheerleading t-shirts and her panties and I nearly forget that I have food on the stove with how beautiful she looks.

“Mmm, I love bacon,” she mumbles, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“I know,” I respond, forcing myself to turn my attention back to my cooking. 

Within fifteen minutes, I manage to get bacon, eggs, and a pile of buttered wheat toast on the table. Quinn grabs the carton of orange juice from the fridge and I pour two mugs of coffee, leaving Quinn’s black and pouring milk and sugar into my own. Breakfast is full of laughs and Quinn moaning over her extra crispy bacon and I have a fleeting thought that I would love for this to be something that we do every weekend.

“What do you have in mind for today?” Quinn asks as she helps me wash the dishes after breakfast.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease, wrapping my arms around her waist as she dries the last of the dishes and stacks them in the cabinet.

She spins and grips my neck with her hands, pulling me in until our lips meet. I feel it all the way to my toes just like I did that first time on the beach a year ago. Part of me wants to pull her back into the bedroom, but I have a full itinerary for the day and I don’t want to spend our anniversary rolling around in the sheets when we could do that on any given day. Today is supposed to be special.

The wine is cheap, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Quinn. She is lying with her head on my stomach as we look up at the sky. There’s not much to look at but low-flying planes and random flashing lights. New York is too bright to see the stars and it makes me miss the peaceful fields of Ohio where you could stargaze all night long. The sounds of New York surround us even though it’s the middle of the night; it’s really a place that never seems to sleep.

I know I’m a little tipsy from the bottle we’ve shared and I feel warm all over. Quinn nuzzles into me and I run my fingers through her hair. It’s so peaceful to have the whole roof to ourselves.

“How did we go from me tossing you into lockers junior year to this?” Quinn asks contemplatively, turning to look up into my face.

“That’s called sexual tension, Q,” I laugh, still stroking her hair and gazing down into her hazel eyes.

Quinn chuckles and I feel my chest ache with how perfect it is to be lying here with her. It’s been a year since she kissed me on that beach and it hasn’t been an easy one, but all of it seems worth it to get the chance to be with her tonight.

“I’m sorry for how I acted when I was at U of L,” I say quietly. We haven’t really talked about it since our blowout at Thanksgiving. It still hurts to think about waking up without her that Sunday morning with nothing but her note. But that note is the whole reason I worked so much harder to get to this point. She wanted me to be the one to catch her and I wanted to prove that I am that person.

“San, we’ve gotten past it,” she replies, reaching up to swipe her thumb along my jaw line. “We’ve grown a lot in a year,” she adds.

“I was still a jerk though,” I insist. 

“We’re all selfish sometimes; it’s not the end of the world,” she says soothingly, sitting up and pulling me in between her legs so that my back is resting on her chest. Her arms wrap around me and hold me there tightly.

“Remember when Kurt walked in on us half naked on their couch the morning after Rachel’s show?” I ask with a giggle.

Quinn’s body shakes with laughter against me. We had gone out after Rachel’s spring performance to celebrate and ended up getting so wasted that we decided to stay in Brooklyn at Rachel and Kurt’s place. Quinn is a frisky drunk girl and we were getting hot and heavy on the couch, but both apparently passed out before we finished the job. Unfortunately for Kurt, we also fell asleep without redressing and he was greeted with the sight of a lot of boobs on his way to the kitchen for coffee bright and early the next morning.

“I don’t think we’re ever going to be allowed to share the couch in their apartment again,” Quinn says through her laughter. “It’s not as bad as the night that we jumped on top of Jocelyn when she was in my roommate’s bed thinking it was my bed.”

Jocelyn was not pleased to be woken up at three in the morning, but even more so because I had roughly pushed Quinn down and immediately tried to straddle her while murmuring everything I wanted to do to her rather loudly. That was the first night that Jocelyn’s jealousy really reared its ugly face. I ended up on my ass on the floor when she shoved us off, but someone she managed to catch Quinn before she hit the floor. I had the joy of going to bed extremely horny and with the image of Jocelyn holding onto my Quinn.

“I’m pretty sure that was when she decided I was officially on her hit list,” I respond, nuzzling into Quinn.

“Oh, stop. She doesn’t hate you, Santana,” Quinn tries to convince me.

“You’re kidding, right? She spits poison every time I walk into the room.”

“She’s just protective over me. Jocelyn got to see how upset I was first semester when we weren’t really talking.”

“And she wasn’t too pleased when I was in the picture either. She would have rather soothed you herself,” I say bitterly.

Quinn responds by leaning forward and kissing directly behind my ear. Her hot breath tickles my neck and I immediately feel like my body is on fire. I have to bite my lip to keep from releasing a moan as she continues with her trail of kisses along my ear and jaw.

My bitterness over Jocelyn being too friendly to Quinn fades away at the feel of Quinn’s lips sliding along my skin, leaving my body humming. I stretch my head to the other side, giving her more access to my neck. She takes it willingly, nipping and kissing along it as I squirm under her tender touches.

There’s just something about Quinn that lets me give up all control. I don’t know what it is that makes her so different from everybody else I’ve dated. I loved Brittany, but even in years of our crazy relationship, I never fully gave myself over to her. I didn’t feel safe without holding onto at least a string of control. It’s not like that with Quinn. I let myself turn to putty in her hands, allowing her to mold me anyway she sees fit. I trust her with my entire heart and my entire well-being. She holds everything that could break me, but she keeps it safe and cherishes it. She wants me to be the one to catch her when she falls, but she’s already caught me.

We sit there for a long time in silence, Quinn holding me and randomly peppering kisses along my neck and ear. There are so many things I want to say to her about how much this past year has meant to me, but it’s like she already understands. I don’t have to put my emotions into words with Quinn. She understands me on a deeper level than my words could ever express.

“I could love you forever, you know,” Quinn whispers against my ear.

“I hope you do,” I say back. We’ve never actually said the words but fire burns me at hearing her say it, even if it’s not directly.

It doesn’t take long for me to pull her to her feet and gather the blankets and wine glasses. Quinn picks up the empty bottle and follows me back down the ladder into the building. I need Quinn to myself in my bedroom in my tiny New York apartment. I might not be ready to say it, but I have to show her how much I really love her.

Piper is very thankfully out for the night and I drop the glasses onto the counter unceremoniously before practically dragging Quinn into my room and slamming the door. I’ve spent the entire day with Quinn celebrating the fact that somehow we’ve made it through an entire year despite distance, jealousy, and everything else life has thrown in our way. Right now, she needs to know how much I really love her and how much it means to hear that she sees the future that I envision every time my eyes meet her sparkling hazel ones.

When she starts writhing in the sheets with my name falling from her kiss-swollen lips, I feel every ounce of my love for her pulsing through my veins. As we cuddle up afterwards, the sheets tangled around our feet, I hold her tightly and kiss her sweaty forehead. Her eyes are heavy with sleep and just as they close I hear her raspy whisper.

“I love you, Santana.”

“Love you too, Q,” I mumble against her hair even though I know she’s already fast asleep.


	4. The Sun Will Forever Keep Rising

Somehow we've made it four years without me completely screwing everything up.

That is not to say that it has been easy. There have been plenty of nights of tears and going days of being too stubborn to apologize. The entire time Quinn has been at Yale, we have only gotten to see each other on odd weekends and holidays.

So when Quinn brings up the idea of moving to New York after graduation, part of me panics. She doesn't explicitly say that she thinks we should move in together, but it is definitely heavily implied. 

I have always loved my alone time tucked away from the rest of the world. It is the reason that I have consistently turned down Rachel and Kurt's offer to move in with them since I moved to New York. I like living with Piper because even after nearly four years of sharing an apartment, we're practically strangers. She keeps her nose out of my business and I don't question her parade of sexual conquests that never make it to breakfast.

I try to avoid the conversation, but it's impossible to get the thought out of my mind. Quinn talks about graduate schools all the time and she has applied to ones all over the East Coast. I guess if I had to choose, her getting into one of the New York schools would be the best for us. But if we're in the same city, she's going to want to take our relationship to the next step and I am really not sure if I'm ready for that.

We go out after Kurt's show when Quinn comes down to visit at the beginning of March. I have gotten to know most of Rachel and Kurt's theater friends during my time living here and I saw hello to a group of them as we enter the club. Quinn's arm is gripping my elbow and I lead her through the crowd until I find Rachel sitting in a booth with her latest boy next to her. I drop Quinn off and head straight for the bar to grab us a round of drinks.

When I get back to the table, Rachel's guy has disappeared and Quinn is in deep conversation with her.

"Well, I have gotten into Columbia, Fordham, Yale, and Duke. My decision is due in a month so I really need to start eliminating choices."

I pass Quinn her vodka cranberry and slide the glass of red wine over to Rachel before taking a chug from my own drink.

"I mean, Duke isn't really an option, right? I get Yale because it's your alma mater but Duke is much farther from New York," Rachel responds immediately, picking up her wine glass and taking a tiny sip. 

Rachel seems to think that Quinn's decision should obviously be influenced by our relationship. I'm the one that encouraged Quinn to even apply to Duke because the program was such a good one. I have always been the kind of person that told people exactly how it is. I kept it real and it burned a lot of bridges for me over the years. Yet, I can't tell Quinn that I don't want her to be so far away for another four years. Because admitting that means discussing my fears of having her around all of the time and of giving up my little bubble of privacy that I have flourished in for years. 

Maybe it's because everybody's lives are moving forward and mine is still stuck. I have only been going to school part-time, so I am not graduating in two months like the rest of my friends. Every once in a while, I pick up a night of singing but I haven't landed anything steady yet. Quinn has been so focused on exactly what she wanted to do since the day she got that early decision letter to Yale. If she comes to New York, I'll still be finishing up my business degree and playing tiny gigs in dive bars while she's a hotshot grad student at some big, impressive school.

Perhaps our futures don't line up. I love to sing. I meant what I said about wanting to be famous during senior year. But my chances of making it big are slim to none. Even Wheezy, who has had a steady gig since we graduated, still hasn't moved up from being a background singer to C-list divas. I don't have Rachel Berry-sized ambition. I have talent, but I am too scared of failing to ever really let myself take the leap. Rachel applied to exactly one college because she had that much faith in her own potential. I didn't even apply to colleges because I just assumed I wouldn't get in based on my grades.

Quinn seems to notice that my head is somewhere else and she excuses us from Rachel and leads me out onto the dance floor. It's a crowded club and having Quinn's hand clasping mine calms my heartbeat a little bit. She starts moving with the pounding of the music and I'm instantly mesmerized by her fluidity. Quinn never got the recognition she deserved in Glee for being such a good dancer. I smile when she pulls me closer and we fall into rhythm together effortlessly, her own hand planted on the small of my band as the other continues to hold my hand. We're facing each other and it's way too loud to have a conversation, but our gaze doesn't break. The rest of the dance floor is a blur as we move together, her still slightly taller than me despite the heels I'm wearing. I let my arms wrap around her neck and I let her lead. We rock against one another and at points, I can feel the eyes of straight guys wandering onto us, but a glare from Quinn over my shoulder takes care of that problem quickly.

My feet are killing me and I'm dying of thirst by the time Quinn finally decides she's had enough and leads me back towards the booth where Kurt is now sitting with Rachel. I grab Kurt's drink and take a huge swig from it as I slide into the booth. He gives an annoyed huff in my direction before grabbing back the mostly empty glass and wiping the straw with his sleeve.

Quinn gets the hint and kisses my temple before fighting through the crowd to get to the bar.

"You are going to convince her to pick a school in New York, right?" Rachel pipes up as soon as Quinn's back is to us.

"What?" I choke out, my jaw dropping. I shouldn't be so surprised; Rachel is known for her brashness.

"She's waiting for you to tell her it's okay for her to be here. Are you really that dense, Santana?" 

I open and close my mouth a few times before I finally can form a response.

"It needs to be her decision. I'm not going to be responsible for holding Quinn back from picking the program that is best for her."

"Because Columbia and Fordham would obviously be settling," Kurt adds sarcastically. I scoff at his rolling eyes.

Quinn slides drops a bottle of beer and a glass of water in front of me before sliding into the booth next to me. I look over at her flushed cheeks and tenderly tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

Rachel and Kurt avoid the conversation about Quinn's graduate school choices for the rest of the night. They have gotten to know me well enough to realize it's best to stay out of my affairs.

The club turns the lights up during last call and we all stumble outside into the cool March air. We hug Kurt and Rachel goodbye as they head towards the subway. My apartment isn't that far from the club and we decide to just hail a cab.

We've matured past the point of making out drunkenly in the back of cabs. Quinn sits behind the driver and stares out of her window at the still bustling city sidewalks. There is space between us and I ache to close the gap, but Rachel's words are ringing in my head. Is Quinn really waiting for my approval to pick a school? We have talked about her options a million times and I have always made a point of not really giving my opinion because I didn't want to influence her. She had already ruled out the West Coast because she didn't want to be across the country from me.

The cab pulls up in front of my apartment building and I slip him a couple of bills through the little divider. Quinn holds the door open for me and I slide across the seat and take her outstretched hand as I step out. She holds onto it as she slams the cab door and steps up onto the sidewalk.

~!~!~!~

It isn't until two weeks later when I am visiting Quinn that the topic of her graduate school decision comes up again. Quinn is sitting at her desk while she works on a paper and I am propped against her headboard as I read for one of my classes. I'm not expecting Quinn to spin in her seat to face me, but I look up from my book as soon as she does.

"I have to send in my grad school deposit by the end of the week," she says casually, tapping her pencil on her thigh as she speaks.

"Oh, have you picked a school then?" I ask, marking my page and closing the textbook with a thud.

"We need to have an actual conversation about this, Santana," Quinn prods gently.

"So do you need to make a pro/con list or something? I can video chat Berry in; you know this is her area of expertise."

"This is about us more than it is about which school I should go to."

I sigh and look away, having no idea how to respond to that.

"I figured you'd be happy about the prospect of me being in New York full time, but you're really not giving off that vibe," Quinn says, destroying the awkward silence that had been lingering between us by making the situation even more uncomfortable for me.

"I just want you to pick the best school without worrying about how close it is to me," I retort, trying to make myself believe it too. I have hated the long distance situation for the last four years and I really would prefer to not keep hopping on a train every month.

"Choosing a school in New York doesn't mean we have to live together, you know."

Sometimes, it feels like Quinn knows me better than I know myself. This is definitely one of those moments.

"Don't be ridiculous, Q," I reply dismissively like she has the situation completely wrong. It is scary how accurate she really is about my innermost fears.

"You've got to stop this crap, Santana! You're twenty-two and you still can't admit that you are scared of how serious our relationship has become. I'm not asking you to get married or to start having kids. Hell, I'm not even asking you to move in with me. If you want to live separately if I move to the City, I'm okay with that. But I'm not okay with you continuing to act like this decision doesn't involve you."

I toss my book off to the side and pull my knees up into my chest, hugging them tightly. It isn't that I don't want Quinn around because I love the idea of her being in New York all the time. Our dynamic will change though; our personal lives will end up melting into one.

Quinn tosses her pencil onto the desk and climbs onto the bed, settling in beside me. Her head falls down onto my shoulder and we sit there in silence. I let my thoughts consume me with her warmth pressed against my side and I force the tears back down. There is no way I'm going to be a huge pansy and cry over us growing up.

"Columbia is right near that pizza place you love," Quinn says, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

"They do have amazing fucking pizza," I reply, my voice choked with tears. I close my eyes to try to keep them in. They slip out as soon as Quinn reaches over and strokes my cheek tenderly.

"I can live with Rachel since Kurt is moving in with his show choir friends. She's looking for a new roommate anyway. We don't have to rush into something big if you're not ready for it, babe."

I release my knees and let Quinn's arms envelope me. As usual, her closeness calms me down; I feel my heart rate slowly decline until I'm at peace again. She nuzzles her face into the soft shoulder of my worn sweatshirt.

"I do want to live together. I am just afraid that you're going to realize that you don't love me as much when you have to be around me every minute of the day. You can't deny that we used to fight horribly when we were around one another every day in high school."

Quinn laughs, her body shaking against mine. It catches me off guard.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

"Don't you think that we have grown up a lot since we were sixteen?" she responds with another giggle.

"Well, I don't want to rip your head off anymore."

"I want to come to New York. I want to be with you in New York, Santana. As much as I love Rachel, I'm pretty sure I would kill her in the first week if I was sharing a bathroom with her."

Quinn gets me to giggle at that. We have all learned how to love Rachel with her overbearing personality and immense amount of talent, but I agree with Quinn. She would be impossible to coexist with. It is truly a miracle that Kurt hasn't strangled her in four years of sharing a loft with her.

I reach over and grab her hand, locking her fingers between my own. She automatically starts rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb in slow circles. It is soothing how predictable the little things in our relationship have become.

“I want you to come to New York, too,” I murmur into her hair, squeezing her fingers. “Live with me.”

~!~!~!~

The first few weeks of having Quinn in New York were absolute bliss. It was like playing house with simple home-cooked meals by candlelight with cheap wine.

Real life settles in before the first month is up. It turns out that Quinn doesn't appreciate my lack of urgency when it comes to washing dishes. Quinn leaves shoes everywhere for me to trip over. 

By day 20, Quinn leaves for class with a loud slam of the door that shakes the pictures on the walls. I sigh and look around the place. It's a cute, little one-bedroom apartment with great big windows and it should be the perfect place to start this phase of our lives together. But, damn I wish there was someway to have an escape from her being around all the time. I miss being able to shut myself in my bedroom listening to my music without anybody caring. I have to compromise on what to listen to, what to watch on TV, what I'm going to eat for dinner. Now there are always two people to please and I'm so used to only caring about myself.

I have one class mid-morning which is followed by a shift at the department store, so it is already dark by the time I'm trudging back up the stairs towards our apartment. My stomach knots with what awaits me on the other side of the door.

There is music playing when I open the door and I step quietly inside. The entryway has been cleared of Quinn's ten pairs of shoes and I can walk without stumbling over them. I drop my backpack onto the desk and follow the sound of crashing pans into the tiny kitchen.

Quinn is hovering by the stove, stirring a pot and looking down into it with her brow furrowed. I stop in the doorway and watch as she adjusts the flame and grabs a potholder before pulling the oven door open and checking whatever she is cooking?

"Can I help?" I ask and Quinn looks up from the oven and gives me a sheepish smile.

"I'm almost done. Why don't you get changed and relax for a few minutes before everything is ready?" I return her smile and walk over to kiss her temple before heading in the direction of our bedroom.

I change into sweatpants and a navy blue Yale t-shirt that I steal from Quinn's huge collection. The best part of living with Quinn is that I can smell her everywhere. Her perfume permeates the room and I feel calm wash over me by being surrounded by such a simple part of her.

Quinn is setting the table when I return back to the living area and I walk to the kitchen to help carry out the plates. She has made some sort of enchilada dish with rice and it all smells absolutely fantastic. Quinn follows me in and pulls a bottle of red wine out of paper bag that is sitting on the counter. Her arm reaches above me in the tight space and grabs two wine glasses from the cabinet. I duck under her with the food and we both make our way to the little dining table.

"Sorry for losing my temper this morning," Quinn says after her first bite of enchilada. I wave her off.

"Since when do we apologize, Q? Dinner and moving your damn shoes was more than enough of an apology." I sip my wine and look across the little square table at her. She tucks a loose strand behind her ear as she looks down at her fingers that are playing with her fork.

"Yeah, but we're also not teenagers anymore. If we never discuss our issues and try to resolve things, we're never going to stop fighting."

"What is there to resolve? I tripped over your shoes for the fifth day in a row, we yelled a little bit, and now you've moved them so it doesn't happen. That seems like resolution to me."

"I just want us to make sure that we're really trying to make this work. I know that moving in together was a really big step for both of us and I don't want our relationship to fail because of it."

She looks up and studies my face. Without hesitation, I push my chair away from the table and walk around to her side. Her eyes follow me the entire time and I force myself into the tight space between her and the table to straddle her legs and sit on her lap.

"We're not going to fail at this because we're never going to give up," I respond and I dip my head down so that I can kiss her. She kisses me back, softly at first and gradually building in passion until I'm yanking her from her chair towards our bedroom, leaving dinner to get cold.

~!~!~!~

I always get more nervous when Quinn is in the audience at one of my gigs. It's been four months since I've landed a paid singing gig and I'm pacing behind the stage while the act before me finishes his set. My heart is thudding wildly against my ribcage and my throat feels tight and I convince myself that I am going to screw up before the emcee even introduces me. One of the waitresses that is passing by from the kitchen has to physically nudge me towards the stage when my name floats through the air.

My nerves don't calm down when I walk onto the stage. Despite the blinding spotlight, I can still see where Quinn is sitting at a small table near the front. She wolf whistles and gives me a radiant smile, but it just makes my heart hammer even more frantically. I adjust the microphone stand and pull the black stool towards it, letting myself settle in the best I can. I turn and signal to the pianist, who immediately starts the intro of the first number in my set.

It is a forty-five minute set and despite taking gulps of water in between numbers, my throat is killing me by the time I hit the last note. I'm out of practice and I don't think it was my best showing, but I pray that it's good enough to earn me a regular spot in the rotation as I bid goodnight to the crowd.

When I walk back towards the main room to watch the next performer, a man wearing a Mets cap and a white t-shirt with a plain blazer over it steps in front of me. He's in his mid-thirties and looks like he hasn't seen a razor in a few days.

"Santana Lopez." It's not a question. My name was just announced to the entire crowd, so it's not all that creepy that he knows my name. "I'm Alex Cole. I own a bar in the East Village that features live music on Fridays and Saturdays. I'm really interested in getting you into my regular lineup."

"Oh?" I say stupidly and mentally kick myself for sounding like a complete idiot.

"Can I buy you a drink while we talk?" Alex asks. I try to recompose myself.

"That sounds great." I catch Quinn's eye over his shoulder and she gives me a thumbs up with a huge, enthusiastic smile. I follow Alex over towards the bar and sit down on a stool next to him.

It's an hour before I've signed a contract with Alex for a weekly 9 P.M. slot on Fridays at his bar and we're shaking hands. He gives me a warm smile and a little wave as I walk over to where Quinn is now sitting by herself.

"You were amazing," she compliments as I sit down next to her. I beam at her and she leans over her armrest to kiss my cheek. "What did baseball hat guy want?"

"I signed for a weekly gig at his bar on the East Side for the next 3 months," I say nonchalantly, leaning over and stealing a sip of her rum and coke.

"Santana, that's amazing! I'm so proud of you!" she squeals excitedly. I blush and avert my eyes from my adorable girlfriend to avoid jumping on her in the middle of the crowded bar.

"Let's get out of here," I say against the shell of her ear and she grabs her jacket from the back of her chair and tugs me outside without a verbal response. Thankfully, her actions speak louder than words until the sun starts rising six hours later.

~!~!~!~

"Why do we have to go to Lima?" I whine as Quinn finishes packing her suitcase. Mine is still sitting empty on the floor next to the bed.

"We haven't seen your parents in forever," Quinn responds stiffly, zippering her bag and settling down on the bed beside me.

"They can come to New York after the holidays if they want to see us so badly."

Quinn huffs in frustration and starts rubbing her temples.

"Maybe I want to see my mom too." 

The words hang in the air around us. Quinn hasn't seen her mom in three years. Judy was never a great mom and it was easier for Quinn to just avoid Lima than to deal with her mom's disappointment over our relationship. Quinn never came out to her mom; I never pushed her because I never really cared about getting Judy's approval and Quinn seemed happier to just pretend that she no longer existed.

"Uh, okay. Did you call her?" I ask, looking anywhere but at Quinn. It's weird to be talking about a subject that has been pretty much taboo since we started dating.

"She e-mailed me a few months ago. I responded last week to say that I was going to be in town and that I would come over for dinner."

Quinn rolls over and grabs a handful of my t-shirt, tugging me closer to her.

"You'll come with me, right?" she asks, her voice shaky. I can tell how hard this is for her.

"Of course, sweetheart," I reply, leaning in to kiss her forehead lightly.

~!~!~!~

My dad picks us up from the airport and gives us both crushing hugs. Quinn smiles in his arms and tells him he looks great, even though he's gained a few pounds and his hair is even more gray than the last time that we saw him. He squeezes her shoulder and insists on handling our bags, leaving us to trail behind him to the car.

I sit in the backseat and gaze out the window on the drive to Lima while my dad and Quinn discuss a documentary they both watched recently. I haven't been home for Christmas in two years because of my work schedule at the department store, but everything looks exactly like I remember.

Mom has a huge lunch laid out for us when we walk into the house and she holds me for an uncomfortable length of time as soon as I'm inside the door. My brother, a gangly teenager now, hovers by the doorway to the living room. I catch him checking out Quinn and he blushes furiously before mumbling an excuse to leave the room.

After lunch, I send Quinn up to my old bedroom to lay down and I corner my mom to tell her that we're having dinner with Judy the next night. My mom looks shocked, but she refrains from commenting and changes the subject. She's not one for keeping her opinions to herself, so she must understand what a big deal this is for Quinn and I.

Quinn sleeps fitfully that night, tossing around and yanking at the covers. I hardly sleep because of it, but I cuddle her and try to calm her nerves about seeing her mom. It's futile, but I don't know what else I can do.

I drop Quinn's hand as we climb out of the car. Everything that happens needs to be on her terms. We walk up the pathway to the front door and I can feel the nervous energy coming off of Quinn. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my pea coat and wait with a foot between us as she rings the doorbell.

Judy Fabray answers the door looking pretty much the same as the last time I saw her years ago. Her hair is obviously dyed blonde nowadays and she has more wrinkles around her eyes, but the preppy dress and pearls and the tight, fake smile are exactly as I remember them.

"Hi, Mom," Quinn says, holding out the bottle of wine we brought with us.

"Hello, Quinn." She reaches for the bottle graciously. "Santana," she adds with a nod in my direction.

"Nice to see you, Mrs. Fabray," I say politely. She moves back from the door and ushers us in, insisting she take our coats. I rub my hands together as she hangs them in the hall closet to keep myself from reaching for Quinn.

Mrs. Fabray leads us into their living room, which has been completely redecorated since the last time I was here. Quinn looks around the room curiously, noticing that the pictures of her and her sister are still on the mantelpiece, along with additions showing Frannie's kids.

We sit and Mrs. Fabray offers us a glass of wine, which we each gratefully accept. I sip slowly, not wanting to get drunk when this is such a big dinner for Quinn. Judy doesn't seem to have as much tact and drains a second glass before we even move into the dining room.

Quinn takes the same seat that she grew up sitting in and I sit down immediately to her left. Mrs. Fabray tops off our glasses of wine and refills her own before sitting down at the head of the table next to Quinn. We eat in awkward silence through our salads until finally Quinn drops her fork onto her plate with a clatter.

"Mom, I can't sit here and act like we're just picking up from where we left off years ago." Mrs. Fabray picks up her wine glass and takes a large gulp. "Santana is my girlfriend. We've living together in New York. I'm in love with her and your opinion of our relationship isn't going to change my mind about this."

I'm torn between being mortified and amused at how Quinn just outed our relationship to her mother. Instead I reach under the table and rest my hand on her thigh to let her know that I'm there for her.

"I know," Mrs. Fabray says with a sigh. Another swig of wine. "It's a small town, Quinn. Even if you don't come back, other people do."

Quinn looks bewildered at her mom's calmness about the issue.

"How long have you known?" Quinn asks, wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin.

"Around two years, I guess. It would've been nice to hear it from my daughter rather than from near strangers in the pharmacy, however."

Quinn's cheeks flush, but I can't tell if she is embarrassed or angry. She drops her hand into her lap and rests it on top of mine.

"You don't hate me?" Quinn meekly responds.

"You're my daughter. I could never hate you. I can't say I'm pleased with all of your decisions or that I wasn't hurt by finding out the way I did. But no, of course I don't hate you."

The rest of the night goes on as planned. Mrs. Fabray isn't necessarily welcoming me into the family, but at least she doesn't throw us out of the house. Quinn relaxes greatly after the awkward conversation and even reaches out for my hand while we sit on the couch and talk to her mom after dinner. Mrs. Fabray hugs us both goodbye in the foyer and tells Quinn to stay in touch, which Quinn promises to do. We hold hands all the way until I open Quinn's car door. As soon as we're both back in the car, Quinn grabs my face and kisses me hard. I'm out of breath by the time she releases me.

~!~!~!~

Apparently calling a customer a useless imbecile is a good way to lose your job in customer service. In reality, I have loathed working in the department store since the very first day. For the last few years, I got through the long hours of dealing with idiots by thinking about the paycheck and making ends meet. But I'm up to two nights of performing each week at Alex's bar and I picked up an extra class this semester so that I can graduate next spring, so the stress of working eight hour shifts for barely over minimum wage just hasn't been my largest concern lately.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to be honest," muses Quinn over dinner that night. I glare at her. "Look, don't worry about it. I have my stipend from the university and you can see if Alex has other shifts open. If not, I'm sure another bar would love to work you into their rotation."

I prod the chicken on my plate with my fork, my appetite absent tonight.

"I still have most of the savings from my mom," I add, dropping the fork altogether and pushing the plate away from me. Quinn nods at me.

"So, we'll work it out, Santana. Don't be so hard on yourself."

That's the problem though: I am hard on myself. The day I told Rachel and Kurt that I was working in customer service, they laughed hysterically at me and took bets on how long I would last. I couldn't really blame them; it wasn't like I was known for keeping my opinions about others to myself. Most days, it was miserable. I worked with other college students and older, bitchy women who took their power as manager of a store way too seriously. But it was a steady paycheck every two weeks and I could work my shifts around my class schedule pretty easily.

Without the distraction of ringing up hideous clothing and making change, I have a lot more time to focus on school and my music. When I talk to Alex after my set, which ended with the thunderous applause of the crowd, Alex fits me in for an early evening slot on Tuesdays in addition to my busier sets on Thursday during happy hour and one of the coveted Friday night slots. He took good care of me and I appreciated him helping me out, but that left me with a lot of free time during the day that I wasn't used to having.

By the next Wednesday, I'm actually ahead on school work and the apartment is relatively clean. I flip through the channels on TV, but there's nothing worth watching on daytime television. I sit down at the keyboard Quinn bought me after I landed the recurring gig with Alex, telling me that I should really focus on developing into a good musician. Rachel and Quinn had both taken lessons growing up, but Quinn and I fought too much when she tried to help, so Rachel became my official piano teacher. Once a week, she'd sit next to me and make me play through elementary level pieces until I could play with my eyes closed. As the weeks turned into months, I found myself sitting down and playing around with chords and working on my own little riffs in songs. I play through a couple songs that I know by heart now, adding in my personal little changes and singing along with the melody as my fingers move on the keys.

Once I'm warmed up, I stop playing other people's music and start improvising off the basic chords. I work by trial and error, but after three solid hours, I have a little six bar melody of my own creation. Before Quinn comes home, I grab the music notebook Rachel had given me and I scribble down the notes before my brain loses them.

The next day, after classes, I spend the entire afternoon sitting at the keyboard, playing and replaying my six bars, making changes and counting beats. I add a few more bars and play it all together over and over until it becomes second nature to my fingers. Quinn gets home early and I stop long enough for us to make dinner and eat together. As soon as the dishes are cleaned, I sit back down and run my fingers along the keys.

"Hey, babe?" I call through to the bedroom. Quinn pokes her head out. "Can you come listen to something for me?"

Quinn strides out, pulling her t-shirt over her head as she walks and she stops a couple of feet away from me. I can feel her presence over my left shoulder and I set my fingers up against the keys.

I play my melody. It's really short and I'm done playing less than a minute later.

"Did you write that, San?" Quinn asks when I let my hands fall off of the keyboard and into my lap. She takes two steps closer to me. I nod meekly and her hand falls onto my shoulder causing me to turn and look at her. "It's really, really good. You should record it and send it to Rachel so she can obsessively critique until it's perfect, but I think it's really awesome."

I know by her expression that her praise is completely genuine and I can't help but feel a swell of pride. Rachel's reaction could go a million different ways, but I hook up the microphone to my computer and record it to send to her anyway. If nothing else, at least I know she'll be brutally honest about the song's potential.

Rachel comes over the following night with a written list of her critiques. Quinn excuses herself to the bedroom to do her homework while Rachel and I hash it out. I'm surprised to see that her list of corrections and improvements isn't very long and most of them are really just minor changes that I would have never noticed without Rachel and her perfect pitch.

"Have you started working on the lyrics to go with it at all?" Rachel asks as I switch off the keyboard a few hours later. I shake my head. "It is probably better to focus on one piece of the creative process at a time. I'll be glad to help in any way I could be useful to you. It's nice to see that you are finally starting to take your musical talent seriously."

~!~!~!~

It is months later before I'm confident enough in my song to play it live during my Thursday night slot at the bar. Rachel and I have analyzed every note and every word tirelessly, but singing my own song on the stage makes me more feel more vulnerable than I've ever felt in my life. 

I sing a few of my regular songs first to get into a groove. By now, I have my own set of regulars that come in and they are shouting requests towards the stage. I glance over to the corner where Quinn and Rachel are sitting. Rachel whistles loudly and gives me two thumbs up of encouragement. 

My accompaniment moves off of the piano bench when I nod at him and I drag the microphone over to the other stand that is set up next to the piano. The crowd is loud and my adrenaline is pumping as I situate myself on the bench in front of the piano. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and tuck my hair behind my ears, taking a deep breath before I talk into the microphone.

"So I'm trying out something new tonight." I pause for the cheers from a group of my regular guys. "It's a song I wrote called 'Sweet Talking'." I catch one last glimpse of Quinn leaning in to say something to Rachel before I focus on the piano.

The noise from the rowdy crowd fades as I start hitting the keys. I don't even have to think about the notes anymore and I let myself get lost in the familiar rhythm. My voice feels strong as I come in with the verse and I sing my heart out through until the last chord on the piano fades out.

The applause is loud and I feel like I'm flying with how well received the song is. The rest of my set is amazing and I walk off-stage with my head in the clouds.

Alex catches me before I head back to the front to tell me that their sales have been up during my sets and that the customers keep requesting me. I leave his office with longer sets on Thursday and Friday and a hefty pay raise.

Rachel reaches me first when I enter the main room of the bar and she throws her arms around my neck and gives me a tight hug. I let my arms circle her a little reluctantly and I'm grateful when my personal space is returned as she steps away.

"Santana, you were amazing!" she says excitedly. "They absolutely loved your original song!" I can't erase the smile from my face because I know it's true; the song did go over really well.

Quinn slides past Rachel and puts her hands on my waist and pulls me into her. I kiss her in the middle of the bar and she pulls away far too quickly. I frown and she strokes the hair out of my face with a giggle. Her eyes are shining with happiness and she kisses my cheek once before sitting back down on her bar stool.

~!~!~!~

Right as Quinn is wrapping up the first year of her doctorate study, I finish making my demo. There are three original songs on it as well as some of my best covers. Rachel had a connection with a guy from NYADA that works at a small studio in Brooklyn and he gave me a good deal on coming in to record. It's been a project of love for months, but when I see my face on the cover of the CD, it seems worth it.

We put my original songs up on iTunes the same day that I mail out the demos to a bunch of producers in New York. They get more hits than I had imagined they would in the first day and I smile every time I log in just to see my name listed under "Artist."

Alex lets me hand out business cards with a link to the website that one of my business school friends helps me set up and I watch the numbers grow week after week. I'm a small-time independent artist, but music is actually paying my bills between performing at the bar and from the sales of my songs.

Quinn is already asleep when I get home late after my Friday night set and I check my e-mail on my laptop in the living room before getting ready for bed. There's an e-mail from a guy named Kyle Lessing and I scan through it twice before running into the bedroom and hitting the light switch. The force of me jumping on the bed startles Quinn and she shoots up from her spot in bewilderment.

"Quinn! It's happening! It's really happening!"

"What time is it?" Quinn says, rubbing bleary eyes.

"Who cares! It's happening!"

"What is happening?" She lies back down and adjusts her pillow.

"A label rep wants me to come in to meet him. They want me to sign to their label!"

Quinn shakes her head and rubs her eyes in an attempt to wake herself up when it is obvious that I wasn't letting her go back to sleep until we talk. I wait until she's sitting up again and is looking at me.

"You got a record deal?" She asks groggily, trying to piece together what I'm saying.

"Not yet, but a rep wants to meet with me this week!"

"Babe, that's amazing!" Quinn exclaims. I surge forward and kiss her, unable to contain my excitement. Quinn flops back onto the pillows and I topple down on her, our mouths still attached. She's moving languidly in contrast with my frantic motions, forcing me to slow down and meet her pace.

Even after all this time, Quinn constantly reminds me of the need to slow down and enjoy the moment. It's not a race to the finish line, even when there is an obvious goal. With everybody before Quinn, the gratification of the encounter was the only objective. But Quinn forces me to appreciate the finer moments: the smallest brush of her fingers along my forearm or the way she moves a lock of hair out of my face while I hover above her. Our movements are relaxed in a constant game of exploration and relearning every curve.

Quinn's arms wrap around my waist and hold me tightly to her as we kiss and I realize that if I never get anything else in the future, I don't need more than this moment.

~!~!~!~

"Do you ever think about the future?" Quinn asks cryptically. My head is resting on her stomach as we lie on the grass in Central Park. It's a rare day that both of us are off; Quinn has a week off before school picks up again and I don't have any scheduled studio time to work on my first album today.

It's hot and sticky, the way Manhattan gets in the middle of August, and sweat beads on my forehead under the glaring sun. I wipe it with my arm before contemplating Quinn's question.

"Yeah, sure. Who doesn't wonder what it holds for them?" 

Usually this is where Quinn launches into one of her over-the-top philosophical theories on the meaning of life. 

"What about your future with me?" Quinn adds timidly. I become acutely aware of the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathes under my head.

"You mean like getting married and babies and things like that?" I ask, stalling for time to make sure I don't say the wrong thing. Of course I have thought about those things with Quinn. Who wouldn't? She's easily the most beautiful human being I've ever laid eyes on, and that's just her physical appeal. Quinn is brilliantly smart and quick-witted; she's passionate about what she loves and cares about. She's strong-willed and incredibly stubborn and is probably the only person on the face of the earth that can compete with me in absolutely everything.

"Are those things you want?" she responds.

Quinn tries to sit up, forcing me to move my head off of her stomach. I sit up and hug my knees to my chest as I look at her. Quinn is wearing her nervous half-smile and only looks at me from the corner of her eye as she awaits my response. I love that even after all these years, I still manage to keep her on her toes.

"Yeah, but only if they were yours. You produce obnoxiously good-looking, talented offsrping."

It's a cop-out to a degree. I don't have to directly admit that I can't wait to have little blonde toddlers with Quinn's hazel eyes, but Quinn knows how to read me in a way nobody else does.

"Marry me."

My head snaps towards her face and I notice that she's looking at me now, her expression stony and serious.

"W-what?" I stutter, staring at her incredulously.

Quinn reaches over to her bag and rummages inside for a minute. I nearly faint when I see a little black box clutched in her hand.

"Marry me." She says again. It's rudimentarily simple for someone who is usually so poetic with words.

I stare at the box, unmoving. She moves her other hand over and flips open the box. A white gold band with inlaid diamonds leading to a solitaire princess-cut stone in the center is nestled in the box and the diamonds all catch and reflect the sun, causing them to sparkle brilliantly.

"I don't know what I say," I mumble, completely overwhelmed by this turn of events.

"Well, the girls in the movies usually say yes in the most dramatic fashion possible and that is usually followed by an epic kiss."

"How about you put that rock on my finger and then I drag you back uptown and show my appreciation for the bling in other ways?" I joke.

"You're so romantic," Quinn retorts with an eye roll, though she does pull the ring out of the box. She reaches for my left hand and I let her take it willingly.

"Of course I'll marry you, Quinn Fabray," I say and her face stretches in the biggest smile as she pushes the ring over my knuckle and lets it sit on my finger, the weight of it new and unfamiliar.

Quinn slides up onto her knees and closes the distance between us. Music doesn't burst from out of nowhere as the credits start to roll like at the end of a movie. But that definition of romance doesn't even come close to describing the bliss that washes over me at the thought of spending the rest of my life with Quinn Fabray.


End file.
